Prelude to a Kiss
by Lawson227
Summary: Carlton & Juliet and an unexpected situation... of course. Now more than a one-shot still with a healthy dose of shmoop and a mystery. Enigmatic enough? Yes? Good. Rated M more for content than language. You've been warned.
1. Chapter 1

**Prelude to a Kiss**

Oh, as usual, I don't own a lick of **psych**, no infringement is intended, I have the utmost respect for TPTB, and the world they've created. Hopefully, I'm not tromping too horribly on their creation as I spin my own little tales.

That said, this is a somewhat **M-ish** (more content than explicitness of language) one-shot that could possibly expand into more that's not necessarily **M**, but in the meantime, we gots the **M**.

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><p>Long and elegant, capable in everyday interaction, efficient with a pen as he wrote, deadly with a weapon, decisive on a horse's reins, graceful, yet deceptively strong. She knew from observation and the occasional glancing touch that they bore callouses on fingers and palms, their skin warm and shockingly inviting.<p>

She'd long wondered what those hands would feel like.

She could confess that to herself now, as those hands trailed along her body, slow and deliberate, by turns confident and wondering, exploring every curve and crevice, teasing every sensitive point to a near-painful intensity, time and again, bringing an entirely new level of awareness to her skin. He'd bring her to the precipice, then soothe her back to simmering before adding a new level of sensation by adding his mouth, following the same path those elegant hands had taken, lips, teeth, and tongue working in concert, leaving damp trails that cooled into a tingling layer of sensation, leaving her whimpering and gasping his name, fingers tangled in the thick, surprisingly soft waves of his hair. This man who was so hard in so many ways, having the softest hair she'd ever felt, inviting her to hold him closer, fingernails scratching lightly at his scalp, spurring him to begin anew, leaving her writhing on the bed's wide expanse, the sheets growing damp beneath her back as his mouth leisurely trailed from neck to collarbone to the shadow between her breasts. As it moved from one breast to the other, teasing at first, then intent, his tongue moving in slow circles, teeth nipping, those long fingers, with their subtly rough callouses providing contrast, her nipples aching for more and more and more…

Those hands continuing their slow seduction as his head moved lower, pausing to trace patterns on her stomach with his tongue, their names, he teased, his gaze meeting hers, and there, in the brilliant blue depths, evidence of a new, surprising softness. This so hard, often unhappy man was happy _here_—with her. He loved what he was doing to her.

She loved what he was doing to her.

She wanted more.

Arching up to meet his mouth and tongue, one hand reaching back to clutch the headboard, the other remaining on his head, her touch gentle now as he brought her up in new ways, ways she would have never imagined him capable of. Ways she would never have believed this man, so hard and often gruff and impatient, would have had the patience for. But those hands, one of which had joined that mouth and tongue, the soft, yet intent expression in his eyes as he glanced up, so mindful, gauging her enjoyment, it all merged into an experience that seemed to go on forever. An experience he was willing to prolong as long as necessary to bring her the most arousing, earth-shattering, erotic moment of her life.

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><p>Her hair trailed along his body, the long strands like a thousand little caresses as she dragged mouth and tongue and teeth along his skin, exploring, her nails leaving thin, fiery trails along his sides. Much as he wanted to bury his hands in that thick mass of hair, direct her exactly where he wanted her to go, he couldn't fully trust himself to be as gentle as she deserved, especially as her mouth descended lower and lower, ghosting a kiss in the sensitive hollow beside his hipbone before trailing to center, her palms stroking his flanks, soothing, even has her mouth found its target, enveloped him, warm and wet and everything he'd never allowed himself to consciously dream of. His fists clenched in the sheets as he submitted to her will, fighting his natural impulse to dominate, to drive, to own her body with his. Time enough for that. Now that the unimaginable was reality, there was all the time in the world, never mind that the idea he could ever truly dominate her was nothing more than a laughable conceit. She'd owned him for far longer than he'd been willing to admit. Would have never admitted, except for now, that they found themselves in this moment, surprising, yet somehow inevitable.<p>

He'd known her scent, had known exactly how she'd feel, how she'd taste, how she'd move beneath his hands and mouth—how she would feel, draped over his body, strength and softness and silk and heat.

But no amount of knowledge or dreaming could have prepared him for the perfection of fitting his body to hers, feeling the unique strength of her enveloping him, inside and out. The rhythm of her sinuous movements as her hands gripped his shoulders, nails leaving new marks, the slide of her thigh against his, foot teasing his calf as they moved slowly, at first, her eyes wide, gaze meeting his, almost defiantly, as if saying she could take anything he could give her. Challenging him as he increased each drive—finally begging, by look and eventually by word. His name and _please_ and _harder_ and _faster_ and _more_ and _Oh, God, please, more_ emerging on high-pitched cries and harsh gasps that would have frightened him otherwise but in this moment—this first moment between them—only compelled him to push harder and arch back. To push again, _harder_… _faster_. Fighting the strong pull of her body, reveling in subduing it with his larger one—finally submitting, allowing her to pull him close, merging together, sinking into each other until, for the first time, _he_ felt whole, a missing part of himself found as he lost himself in the woman to whom he'd lost his heart long ago.

And there would never be anything more perfect than her warmth wrapped around him in comfort and trust as he held her close, drifting off into sleep feeling… complete.

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><p>Body throbbing with unaccustomed, yet not entirely unpleasant aches, Juliet blinked slowly, her eyes adjusting to the shadows and burgeoning light of dawn turning the sky and snow-capped mountains shades of pale blue and rose gold beyond large, wall-spanning windows.<p>

Warmth enveloped her from behind, at once familiar yet completely unexpected. Carefully, she rolled over, fighting a sigh as an arm tightened around her waist. She swallowed hard against the twin sensations of panic and utter rightness battling in her chest.

No.

_No_.

This couldn't be happening. Yet clearly, judging by her state of undress and the warm, naked length of him pressed against her beneath the sheet, it had happened. And the fact that it felt so familiar and yes, right, it had happened quite a lot, if she had to guess, over many hours.

Hours of which she had no real memory outside of a random wisp of sound, a sense of touch, a quicksilver image, flitting in and out of the transom of her mind before it could fully coalesce into a complete whole.

_What happened?_

Before the question had even completely formed, his eyes blinked slowly and despite her increasing panic, chipped tiny pieces from her heart, with the sleepy, pleased, and undeniably _happy_ expression in them. In this blurry, hazy moment before full awareness gripped him, they were a muted, lovely blue, their expression tender as one long-fingered hand reached up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, his fingertips trailing along her jaw and neck as he murmured, "Juliet."

She still had no idea what was going on, but she knew what _had_ gone on, and was beginning to comprehend what might have precipitated this most unimaginable situation. Her panic continued to grow, winding tight and insidious along her spine, yet even so, she couldn't resist grasping his hand and pressing it against her cheek, breathing deep of the two of them, wrapped in early morning warmth and the fleeting sensations from the night before that grew stronger with his touch.

"Carlton."

His eyes widened, their expression sharpening into one of full awareness and yes, panic, as sharply-honed instincts kicked in and he quickly took stock of their situation.

"Wha— O'Hara? What—where the hell are we?" He bolted upright, the sheet pulling away, revealing her nude body to his slack-jawed gaze. The hands that had been so graceful and sure as they caressed her face moments before fumbled to cover her, as his fearful blue gaze took in the opulent suite, the clothes marking an obvious trail from the door to the bed, and finally, the unfamiliar scenery beyond the window, enveloped in the same early morning light that had woken her so gently.

Given the reality of their situation, it seemed almost incongruous, not to mention unfair. Inexplicably, Juliet wanted to kick something. Hard.

"Oh, God, what the hell happened?" He dropped his head into his hands as if it ached, which it probably did, if the throbbing in her own head was any indication.

"Well," she started slowly, sitting up and holding the sheet to her breasts. "Judging by the evidence, it would appear we're in a very nice hotel, I'm not quite sure _where_, exactly, and we… we, um…"

He glanced up in time to see her gesturing helplessly with one hand, suddenly unable to articulate the obvious.

"Jesus, O'Hara, are you _sure_?"

His voice held the high, cracking note that only appeared under extreme duress. Retreating wasn't far behind, but dammit, they didn't have the luxury of time to allow him to retreat, assess, and figure out how to emerge, defenses up. She needed him here, with her, _now_, so they could figure out what the hell was going on.

"I know it's not necessarily as obvious for men as it is for women, Carlton," she snapped, trying to keep him grounded, "but judging by how much my body aches and not to get too graphic, other physical evidence, yes, we made love last night. A lot."

In a corner of her mind she registered the terminology she'd used, but she couldn't dwell on that now. Semantics, anyhow. And the prickling that stung the backs of her eyes that he wasn't any better able to remember? Just a reaction to the situation as a whole, dammit.

A new sort of panic suffused his expression as he looked at her—really looked at her—for the first time since waking up. "Oh God," he repeated, his voice low and shaking. "I didn't hurt you, did I? Please tell me I didn't hurt you. Oh, God, O'Hara—"

"You didn't hurt me," she broke in, impatience riding alongside the urge to defend him against the self-flagellation with which he was always so quick to punish himself. "At least no more than I hurt you," she added more gently, one hand reaching almost involuntarily to glance against the slightly inflamed scratches leaving a trail along the width of his shoulders. "And by the way, stop calling me O'Hara."

"What?"

"After what we've done, I think you need to practice calling me Juliet."

"Why the hell would you want me to?" His voice trailed up toward the end of the question, revealing just how deep his panic ran, but to his credit, he was breathing steadily, if a bit shallowly, and he continued to meet her gaze, as if sensing she needed him. Because hell, she really did right now.

Brows drawn together in an all-too-familiar expression, he extended a hand, tentative, shaking just a little, to glance against a spot low on her neck, the slight throbbing there indicating that she probably had a pretty good hickey going. _That_ was going to be fun to explain.

All of this was going to be heap big fun to explain. Especially since neither of them appeared to have any blasted clue how they'd wound up in this situation.

"Well," she began again, her voice very soft and very gentle, knowing that in his panic and desperation to assess the situation, he'd yet to notice one of the most damning bits of evidence, "unless it's Regency England, I believe it's customary for husbands and wives to address each other by their first names."

Juliet couldn't conceive of any other way to have told him. She really couldn't. But the way he paled and swayed, made her desperately wish there had been some other way. Some way that wouldn't have left him swallowing hard and scrubbing a hand against his morning beard-roughened face. A hand he slowly lowered to stare at, taking in the etched gold band resting on the ring finger.

"Husbands and—"

"Wives," she finished, holding up her own left hand, silently noting that her narrower band matched his exactly, providing another small bit of evidence, however ephemeral. Some thought, some plan, had gone into this bizarre moment. But _what_? If only she could think past the throbbing in her head that was growing worse by the second. But the more she thought, the worse it got, along with the sick feeling in her stomach she instinctively understood had nothing to do with Carlton and what they'd done. If anything, knowing it _was_ him—that he was here with her—was the only thing keeping her grounded and from dissolving into a screaming, freaking out mess.

_What the hell had happened?_

Okay.

Okay.

They could do this. They could figure it out.

They were partners. Together, they'd figured out some pretty improbable cases. This might be their most improbable one yet, but they could figure it out, dammit. She knew they could. So long as they stuck together.

"O'Har—Juliet," he corrected, his voice holding a note she couldn't consciously recall ever having heard, yet that she nevertheless recognized. "You can't possibly be saying—"

"Yeah, Carlton, I am." And suddenly, it didn't matter that they were both naked and that clearly, they'd gotten to know each other pretty damned intimately—as intimately as two people possibly could—and it didn't matter that they'd been friends for more than six years and partners through harrowing situations that would have broken others. In that moment, having to say the words out loud, Juliet was overcome with an inexplicable shyness, unable to meet Carlton's gaze.

Holding the sheet more tightly to her chest, she stared at her hand and the shiny new band and quietly said, "It would appear we are… married."


	2. Chapter 2

**Prelude to a Kiss**

We know how it goes, yeah? No ownership in **psych**, no infringement intended, TPTB are very, very cool people and I'm just borrowing a corner of the sandbox.

Yes, I yielded to requests (and demands and some outright threats *gives Alysheba and Loafer the side eye*) and decided to keep going. Thanks for asking for more—you guys are the best! Hope to live up to the expectations.

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><p>"It would appear we are… married."<p>

All Carlton could see of Juliet as her quiet words died out were the waves of hair shielding her face and her hands, shaking almost violently despite her death grip on the sheets.

He had to see her face. Needed to see her face. Had to find a way to let her know it would be okay. Even if he had no idea how. That they could fix this—together—the way they fixed so much else. While he shoved into submission the part of him that absolutely, positively, no-way-in-hell had any business speaking up that was whispering maybe this wasn't anything that really needed fixing.

Because despite the absolute horror of waking up to find themselves God only knows where and _married_ with no memory of it, not to mention, well… what had obviously followed getting married, Carlton couldn't deny how damned _good_ he'd felt as he drifted awake. How right. Physically sated and exhausted, yet energized in a way he hadn't experienced in far too long.

Whatever had happened between them—it had been very, _very_ good.

Oh, hell, who was he kidding?

Of _course_ it needed fixing. He and Juliet married? No. Not what was supposed happen, in this reality or any other.

Juliet would never voluntarily marry _him_. Not when she had Spencer.

Oh dear _Lord_, Spencer.

Never mind that Carlton thought the man was a charlatan, a cheat, a con artist of the highest magnitude, not to mention, a complete and utter jackass, he was Juliet's boyfriend.

Carlton knew, despite what really should be better judgment on her part, that Juliet truly loved the idiot. For all he knew, she'd envisioned a future with marriage and children and oh, _hell_—

How in the name of Sweet Lady Justice was she going to explain this? He knew her. She'd want to be completely aboveboard and honest. How Spencer would take it was anybody's guess, but Carlton knew what _his_ reaction would be and knew it would involve firearms.

Whatever happened, he'd just have to be there for her. If she even wanted him anywhere near her after they got back to Santa Barbara. Which they could deal with after they figured out where the hell they were, how the hell they'd gotten here, and most important, _after_ he saw her face.

"Juliet?" He swallowed against the intense dryness in his throat, breathing a little easier as he saw her grip relax marginally, the sunlight streaming through the windows glinting off the gold band as her left hand dropped to her lap.

"Can you look at me?" He swallowed again, feeling as if there was a desert's worth of sand clogging his throat. "Please?"

He could touch her, right? They were partners and they were friends and that _had_ to trump even the whole married thing, which—

A thought occurred to him, simultaneously hopeful and terrifying, but he shoved it aside as not important right in that moment. Right now, what was important was connecting with Juliet again. She hadn't objected to his touching the livid reddish-purple mark on her throat and had, in fact, touched him as well.

And he had to touch her. Had to prove to himself that she was real. That all of this, terrifying as it was, was real.

He carefully took her left hand in his, instinctively closing his warmer fingers around her icy ones. With his free hand, he reached out and brushed the curtain of her hair back, prompting her to slowly raise her head, her gaze meeting his.

"Hey," he said softly. "It's going to be okay."

Almost gingerly she shook her head.

"I swear, Juliet, we'll figure this out."

"I—" Her mouth clamped shut as her eyes widened. In the next instant she bolted, dragging the sheet with her as she charged toward the bathroom. An instant later, the unmistakable sounds of retching emerged from behind the partially closed door, prompting him to charge from the bed, pausing only long enough to paw through the discarded clothes on the floor. Unearthing his boxers he quickly yanked them on, muttering curses as one foot got briefly stuck, making him stumble in his haste to get to her.

Kneeling beside her, Carlton gathered her hair in one hand as with the other, he alternated stroking her back with putting a supportive hand beneath her forehead. After several minutes punctuated by a few extra bouts of dry heaves, she pushed away from him and slumped against the wall. She wiped at her streaming eyes with a trembling hand before using the sheet on her mouth.

With a sigh, Carlton rose and wet a washcloth at the enormous double vanity and filled a glass with cool water. Kneeling beside her, he handed her the glass while he busied himself wiping her sweaty forehead, and lifting the heavy mass of her hair to swab her neck.

"Can't say I blame you," he murmured as he gently stroked her throat, mindful of the hickey that by any standard, was fairly impressive. Yet another reason for her to hate him.

"Victoria threw up the morning after our wedding, too."

Next thing he knew, he was flat on his ass, cheek throbbing as Juliet loomed over him, eyes blazing, arm drawn back.

"The _hell_?" Instinctively, Carlton dropped the washcloth, catching her arm just before it connected again. "Juliet—stop—" Despite his size and strength, she had the advantage of surprise and what seemed like a righteous head of fury as she fought, _hard_, to try to slap him again. But why?

"Juliet—goddammit, would you _stop_ it?" he grunted, as he fought to keep her from beating the hell out of him while at the same time, attempting to gain some measure of control and not hurt her in the process. Except it was like trying to control an enraged wolverine, flying limbs and hair with a strength and power belying its size.

Maintaining his hold on her arm, he slid his free arm around her waist and hauled her down across his body, rolling them over, grateful for the plush bathroom rug serving as a cushion and praying that she wouldn't throw up again. Kind of praying he wouldn't either, as his stomach lurched uncomfortably. But at least she quit struggling, her body still beneath his outside of one long, shuddering breath that he felt as intensely as if it had been his own.

"Juliet," he repeated, more softly, thinking that calling her O'Hara hadn't even occurred to him once. "What's going on?"

To his surprise and horror, two slow tears trailed down her cheeks, more tears filling her eyes and illuminating the hints of green normally hidden by the dark blue.

"Don't _do_ that."

"What?" Still cautious, he kept hold of her arm, though his grip gentled. "What did I do?" And how could he fix it?

"I am _not_ your ex."

"No," he said slowly. "You're definitely not."

For one thing, Juliet was sane. Most of the time. A damned good shot. Tough as hell, but never malicious. Sweet-tempered and a lot more sensitive than she liked to let on. Never ever afraid to call him on his crap but in a way that, while it might annoy him in the moment, ultimately made sense and made him reconsider his position. Most of the time.

No. Definitely not Victoria.

She sniffed, another pair of tears leaving silvery tracks on her pale cheeks. "How could you even think that of me?"

"Uh… I wasn't trying to cast aspersions on _your_ character."

"But you _did_, you idiot." She wrestled her arm from beneath his body but rather than use it to beat him some more, she merely grabbed a clean section of sheet and angrily swiped at her nose and eyes.

This situation was becoming more surreal by the moment. If he didn't know better, he'd think Juliet was actually defending her decision to marry him. A decision neither of them could, for the love of God, even remember making and it was really starting to piss him _off_.

"I'm… sorry?"

"You should be." She sniffed inelegantly as she swiped at her nose again, but her expression softened as she gazed up at him. "Is this an ideal situation? God no. Did something really unexpected and bizarre and that I have no idea how to explain to anyone happen? God, _yes_. But Carlton, for the love of all that's holy, get it through your thick skull—you're my _partner_. Whatever happened, it happened to both of us—and both of us are going to work together to figure it out."

Juliet paused, her lips pressing together with an obvious worry that, as inappropriate as it was, tempted Carlton to kiss from her expression.

Dear God, he really, really wanted to kiss her and remember what it was like. Especially since, judging by the reddened skin and slight swelling evident as her mouth relaxed and her lips parted slightly, he'd apparently done quite a lot of it last night.

"Carlton?"

Her voice was low and throaty and God help him, so damned inviting, and he was going to burn in a Very Special Hell for this, he knew. But he _had_ to—

"Please don't hate me, okay?"

She blinked slowly, her skin flushing lightly and her eyes deepening to a soft blue that brought with it a sudden awareness that only a sheet and his boxers separated them from everything they'd done the night before.

"You still don't get it, do you?" Her free hand, her left, the one with the ring _he_ had put there at some point, rose to his cheek. "I could never hate you."

"Juliet," he exhaled, lowering his head and stopped—

"Carlton?" Her hand slid to his hair and tugged gently and dammit, he wanted to let her pull him down and lose himself in the memory and reality of Juliet, but he couldn't.

Dammit.

He couldn't even trust himself to give her a small kiss—a kiss of consolation or of promise—because he couldn't make that sort of promise and worse still, had no real right to. Not to mention, he couldn't trust himself to stop.

"I'll be damned," he said quietly.

"What?"

Disappointment sliced through Carlton with a surprising intensity at the sound of her voice, throaty still, from her bout of sickness, but the tone completely different.

"Look," he said, clearing his own throat and trying for his usual brusqueness—immediately giving it up at the shadow of obvious hurt that passed across her face. Rolling off Juliet. he helped her to a sitting position and immediately took her right hand in his again, extending her arm. "Look," he repeated, more quietly, as he pointed out the pair of tiny red marks in the crook of her elbow.

Juliet's eyes widened, followed immediately by her brows drawing together as she grabbed both his hands and extended his arms. The ends of her hair teased his skin as her fingertips trailed along the sensitive crooks of his elbows, pausing inside his left, where three angry pinpricks marched along the blue line of his vein, prominent against the fair skin he'd inherited from some misbegotten Irish ancestor.

"Son of a _bitch_," she muttered in a voice that shook Carlton with how much it reminded him of… well, _him_.

Eyes narrowed, she looked up and met his gaze.

"What the hell happened, Carlton?"

He turned his wrist, capturing her right elbow in his hand and rotating it so the insides of both their elbows faced up, the first real piece of evidence they'd come across staring at them in all its angry redness.

"I have no idea," he finally managed, furious at the sight of the red needle marks marring Juliet's skin. "But when I find out who did this, I swear to you, Juliet, I'm going to kill the son of a bitch."


	3. Chapter 3

**Prelude to a Kiss**

We know how it goes, yeah? No ownership in **psych**, no infringement intended, TPTB are very, very cool people and I'm just borrowing a corner of the sandbox.

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><p>"Detectives, a moment, please?"<p>

Juliet exchanged a glance with Carlton at Chief Vick's summons, silently asking if he knew anything, responding to the negative shake of his head and raised eyebrows with a shrug of her own. Odd for the chief to call them in now, so close to the end of the work day—really, past the end of the work day, since she and Carlton had both stayed late to catch up on paperwork, leaving them the last two regular duty detectives in the bullpen.

She didn't _think_ they were in trouble. Carlton hadn't drawn his weapon without cause in weeks now and if she'd flown a little off the handle during their last case, well then, she'd had good reason. The nerve of that exotic dancer calling her a frumpy Mary Sunshine. Just because she didn't wear six-inch Lucite platforms with blinking LED lights did _not_ mean she was frumpy, dammit. And she didn't care how adept Miss Lucite was around a stainless steel pole, "accidentally" shove a chair in her way as she was sauntering past and she was just as susceptible as anyone else to landing on her ass.

Shawn had looked appalled, Carlton had hid a laugh behind a cough, and Gus had been there to help her up, all concern and soft words.

They'd been on a few dates so far that she knew of.

Carlton paused by her desk and together, they walked into the Chief's office, again, exchanging another glance at the unexpected presence of Henry Spencer. Especially since Shawn or Gus were nowhere to be seen.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Behind them, the Chief closed the door, the subtle click of the lock and the closing of the blinds making it clear she didn't intend to wait on Shawn or Gus either—or would be tolerating any untimely interruptions.

_Definitely_ curiouser.

Rather than move behind her desk, as was her habit, Chief Vick led them to the sofa and chairs grouped at the far end of her office, indicating that Juliet and Carlton should take the sofa while she and Henry seated themselves in the armchairs.

Juliet shot a sidelong glance in Carlton's direction, noting how his narrowed gaze moved from Vick to Henry and back again, but otherwise revealing nothing as he settled back against the cushions. To the outward eye, he looked casual and relaxed, but she could sense his faint air of puzzlement and even with a sofa cushion's width between them felt the tension that vibrated through his muscles with fine tremors.

But he waited. Patiently. And if her normally impatient, need-to-know-now partner could exhibit that kind of cool, then so could she.

"A case has come up," Chief Vick began without preamble. "Kind of unusual and not normally something for which I'd consider either of you, honestly, but the circumstances are… extenuating."

Once again, Juliet glanced at Carlton, gauging his reaction, continuing to take her cues from him. He remained silent, outside of a quizzical eyebrow rising, and waited for the chief to elaborate.

"There's been an upswing in infant kidnappings from hospitals and foster facilities throughout the Western U.S. with mounting evidence that points back to an adoption agency operating out of Santa Barbara." Though her voice remained as steady and professional as ever, telltale spots of color appeared high on Vick's cheekbones as she spoke. Juliet could relate—child-related cases made both her and Carlton crazy and neither of them were parents. She could only imagine how enraging it had to be for their boss.

"On the surface, the agency is completely aboveboard—a legitimate operation, specializing in a overseas adoptions."

"But—?" Carlton interjected as he toyed with the pen he'd drawn from his pocket. A focusing technique, he'd once explained to Juliet when she commented on the habit. Something about having something tactile in his hands served to help him to absorb the maximum amount of information. He'd realized it early in his detective days when he'd be taking notes while interviewing suspects on a scene and then later on, being able to recall even more than what he'd committed to paper. He'd confessed it to Juliet in his normal irascible manner, as if it wasn't that big a deal, but Juliet noticed his faint blush as he'd added that there were other memory and observation techniques he'd read about. If she wanted to borrow the books. You know, if she was interested. Didn't make a damned bit of difference to him. But if she was…

Carlton in a nutshell. Always striving to become a better detective and in turn, trying to help her become a better detective as well. And exactly _why_ she would never dream of changing partners. Also why, when other detectives marveled that she'd lasted as long as she had while offering snarky commentary about him, she was hard pressed not to pistol whip them. Idiots. There was a reason she and Carlton had a consistently high rate of case closure and it wasn't because she was perky and blonde.

"But people can't help but talk," Chief Vick said in response to Carlton. "Especially new parents. And a lot of talk keeps coming back to this agency. It would appear that outside of the regular, aboveboard adoptions, they seem to also be helping out couples who are looking to adopt, exploring all options, but who, when pressed, confess they want the… _perfect_ baby. And they provide said perfect baby—for an extra fee, of course."

Juliet's brows drew together. Weren't all babies perfect? At least, to their parents? Especially parents who so desperately wanted them? "What do you mean by perfect?"

"She means perfectly matched to the family, O'Hara, and in all likelihood, a boy," Carlton replied, his voice tight. "The majority of the kidnappings have been boys, haven't they?"

Vick nodded shortly, the color on her cheeks deepening. "Almost three-to-one. Some parents prefer girls, of course, or if they're adopting for a second time, they might want a girl, to complete the perfect family."

"Son of a _bitch_." Through the sofa cushions Juliet could feel Carlton's tension increasing. Taking a deep breath he leaned forward, the pen clenched in his fist. "Where do we come in though? There hasn't been a homicide, has there?"

"No." Mirroring his position, Chief Vick leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees. Taking a deep breath, her gaze moving from Carlton to Juliet, she finally said, "We need the two of you to go undercover."

Utter silence descended over the office until it was broken by Carlton's explosive laugh and disbelieving, "No, really, Karen, what do you need us to do?" the question tailing up at the end in the way that revealed imminent panic.

Sliding closer, Juliet placed a hand on Carlton's arm. No more tremors—just sheer terror holding the muscles locked in rock hard stillness. He hated admitting it, but undercover was his Kryptonite. As often as he'd requested undercover assignments, Vick had turned down them down flat—for good reasons and he well knew them. Juliet _knew_ he wanted to defeat his nemesis, but also that he'd always expected it would happen on a case with less at stake. For a case like _this_, with so much on the line?

What in the _hell_ was Vick thinking?

"You two need to go undercover." Henry's voice was slow and precise, as if speaking to small children who were having a hard time comprehending. Juliet had almost forgotten he was even in the room. And the question of why he was here grew even larger.

"If this is your idea of a joke, Henry, this isn't funny," Carlton muttered as he shook his head, his knuckles white as he gripped the pen even tighter. She patted his arm, giving the pen a meaningful glance when his panicked gaze met hers. That was the pen she'd given him two birthdays ago, the limited edition _Untouchables_ pen, with a tommy gun cast in sterling silver as the clip. He'd be beyond pissed if he broke it.

"There's no way we can go undercover," he added, his grip on the pen relaxing, though his forearm remained still and tense beneath her hand.. "It'll be too easy for them to figure out who we are. At least me, considering how often I've been on the news or in the papers."

Juliet shrugged as he shot a surprisingly apologetic glance her direction. Not as if it wasn't true. One of the reasons she'd been able to take the few undercover missions she'd been given was that she flew under the radar, publicity-wise, while Carlton had historically sought the media spotlight at every opportunity. It didn't bother her unless he became an insufferable pain in the ass about it—something that used to happen far more frequently in the early days of their partnership. But outside of throwing himself the party for the Bernie Bethel case, which, admittedly would have been a hell of a coup worth celebrating if the whole thing hadn't gone to hell, he'd been surprisingly low-key about his more recent accomplishments.

She'd felt so bad for him when that case had fallen apart, even though Bernie did turn out to be nuts and they'd ultimately gotten the right guy. With Shawn's help. Not that Shawn had actually been as interested in getting the right guy as he'd been in showing Lassiter up. Pouting like a spoiled toddler at the fact that Carlton was celebrating having done his job. Pouting some more when she pointed out he had the worse habit of taking credit for work he didn't even do—Zippy the Dinosaur anyone?.

Honestly, though, it seemed as if lately Carlton was taking the approach of the less attention he drew to himself media-wise, the less opportunity there was for Shawn to screw with him. At least _one_ of them was growing up. She gave his arm an absent-minded pat before returning her hand to her lap, although she remained seated close to him. Just in case.

"Actually, we're counting on them knowing who you are."

"Come again?" Juliet asked, thoroughly confused by Vick's enigmatic response.

"You two are essentially going to go undercover as yourselves," she replied. "Just a slightly modified version."

Beside her, Carlton sighed, his face set in still lines, as if awaiting the executioner.

"You two are going to approach the adoption agency as Carlton Lassiter and Juliet O'Hara, detectives and partners with the SBPD who have, for some time now, been involved in a relationship with each other. Because of departmental regulations, you've understandably kept things discreet, but that's about to change since you've made the decision to get married and start a family."

Here, Chief Vick paused, eyebrows raised, obviously giving them an opening to ask questions. But what the hell was there to ask at this juncture? It was fairly straightforward. Ludicrous, insane, and right now, Juliet couldn't even begin to imagine how in the hell this was going to work, but straightforward.

"Moving along, then," the chief continued. "Detective O'Hara unfortunately has a long-standing medical condition that makes it impossible for her to bear children—your medical records will be altered to reflect your cover," she added, correctly guessing the question Juliet had been about to raise, since she didn't suffer from any such condition. "And since you both desire to start a family, sooner, rather than later, given how much older Detective Lassiter is than O'Hara—"

A spontaneous and probably inappropriate giggle escaped Juliet at Carlton's indignant "_Hey_—" while the chief merely rolled her eyes.

"Oh, suck it up, Carlton," she snapped. "You _are_ nearly thirteen years older than her and for the purposes of your cover, it actually works in our favor. Knowing that these things take time, you're interested in getting proceedings started as soon as possible, even though your wedding is still some time away. O'Hara, you are, of course, planning on giving up your career to become a full-time wife and mother."

As Juliet's eyebrows shot up towards her hairline, Chief Vick allowed herself a small smile. "All part of the cover, O'Hara. They're counting on that air of desperation. The desire for the perfect picket-fence life."

"Which means I'm going to have to be the one to tip the scales," Carlton interjected quietly, back to toying with the pen.

Vick nodded, surprised, yet obviously pleased, while Juliet studied Carlton, picking up, as she so often had over the years, what he was thinking.

"You're going to want a boy. More than anything."

He nodded, his mouth set in a thin, grim line. "A lot of foreign adoptions tend to be girls. But if I can't have a boy of my own, I'm going to want adopt a boy. One who's as much like me as possible." He looked vaguely uncomfortable as he spoke, an faint air of embarrassment hovering about him as he slouched back into the sofa.

"It does fit your profile, Carlton," Henry said carefully.

"The only thing you're really going to have to sell," Vick added, delicately, it sounded, "is that you love O'Hara enough that having a biological child of your own no longer holds the same importance it once might have since the question of why you aren't pursuing surrogacy as an option might come up."

Juliet had seen her partner uncomfortable and embarrassed any number of times over the last six years—_never_ had she seen him turn such a spectacular shade of red, all the way from his hairline down to the open neck of his dress shirt. And his eyes—good Lord, all that red made his eyes stand out that much more, enormous, terrified blue orbs, like the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.

"Hey, I'm sorry faking being in love with me is such a difficult prospect to consider," she joked—sort of—as she jabbed an elbow into his side, trying to bring him back. She wouldn't focus on the faint hurt—just a little one, really—pinging just below her ribcage at how… _bothered_ he seemed by the whole proposition.

"It might not be as difficult as you think, Carlton" Henry said, leaning back in his chair, his sharp, thoughtful gaze trained on the two of them. "For all your outward exuberance, Juliet, you and Carlton both come across as fairly reserved individuals—especially on the job. Your cover is going to have had you in a relationship for months now, a situation that increases the demand for discretion. The real trick is going to be being seen in public a little more frequently after your initial visit to the agency since they'll be checking the two of you out even more thoroughly than they might other prospective clients, given your positions within the department."

"But no one's really going to question partners who happen to be good friends spending time together," Vick added. "The real key is to behave in a way that can't be called into question publicly with respect to your jobs, but that—" she paused, as if searching for the best turn of phrase. "Let's just say that your behavior should imply a greater closeness behind closed doors."

Now it was Juliet's turn to feel her face flame with a surprising heat, although she managed to ask in a fairly steady voice, "Would this also mean spending off-hours together at our homes?"

"Yes." Vick's answer was immediate and left no shadow of a doubt as to just how much time they needed to spend together. "Look, I know what we're asking here is just this side of crazy, but you two really are perfect for this. You're the longest standing partnership in the entire department regardless of division, you get along tremendously well, you profile well for the purposes of this case, plus—" Again she paused, exchanging a glance with Henry as if once again, searching for the right words.

"Let's face it, you both have a history of relationships with colleagues. It would be a completely believable cover."

That was Henry, as blunt and direct as ever and reminding Juliet—

"What about Shawn?" she blurted. Dear God, Shawn. She hadn't even given him a single thought once Vick started laying out her plan.

"I'll take care of Shawn," Henry said. "As head of the consultants, I can choose what detective team Psych is assigned to—I'll keep them busy with other teams. It'll be good for them anyhow."

"That's great for work hours, but how am I going to explain the rest of it?"

"You're not." Once again Vick's voice was absolute and brooked no argument. "You tell him nothing. The two of you have to sell your cover absolutely and without question and that means no one outside of this room can know about your involvement in the case." She leaned back in her chair, chewing on her lip. "It's not beyond the realm of possibility that the agency could have a source inside the department or within the city government. At the very least, someone's got to be greasing the wheels with paperwork."

A shadow crossed her face as she sighed and her gaze found Carlton's. "After Drimmer, I'm far more cautious and I will _not_ take unnecessary risks."

That was all well and good, but _still_—

"I understand all of that, Chief, but how am I supposed to explain to Shawn that I can't spend time with him?"

"How much time do you spend with Shawn—_just_ Shawn—really?" Henry's perceptive gaze suggested he already knew the answer, but to his credit, he waited for her to figure it out. Which took about 3.2 seconds. And was pretty embarrassing to boot.

"Again, digging into your pasts is going to reveal that Shawn often spends more of his free time with Gus than he does with you. And that even when he has the opportunity to spend time alone with you, Gus often winds up tagging along as a Plus One."

Juliet thought she heard a muttered "asshat" while Henry was dissecting her relationship—or lack thereof—with his son, but couldn't be entirely sure.

"Add to that the fact that Shawn dragged your father back into your life against your express and vehement wishes, not to mention turned your romantic getaway weekend into a vendetta to recover a _toy_ and trust me, no one's going to question why you started spending more time with your partner. Inadvertent though it may have been, even Shawn played perfectly into this cover."

Henry's expression as he shrugged was apologetic—maybe even a little pitying—echoing Vick's which made Juliet flush as she dropped her gaze to study her tightly clenched fingers.

They'd discussed all of this before asking her and Carlton in here. Before they asked them to take this case. They had picked apart their lives and while Carlton might be the key to making their cover work, it was the weaknesses in her own relationship that had provided the majority of the fodder for the cover. God, she could only imagine the expression on Carlton's face. Probably some variation on a theme of "I told you so," with a side of smug. Not that she could blame him.

But when she risked a glance from beneath lowered lashes, she was shocked to discover anger—directed at Henry if she was judging the icy blue glare and stony expression correctly—that evolved into concern as he turned to look at her.

"O'Hara?"

Six years together meant she heard everything he intended within the single quiet word. If she said no, he'd support her, no questions asked. And if she said yes, they'd figure it out. Like they had so often before. But in the end, it was up to her. She was the one with potentially the most to lose.

But as Henry had so eloquently outlined, what did she have to lose, really? Would Shawn notice them spending even less time together? If properly supplied with interesting cases and a never ending supply of Chocolate Chip Eggos and Lil' Smokies, the likelihood he'd notice really wasn't all that high.

Honestly, she wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. Or both. Jesus, what could she have been _thinking_?

"Karen, Henry—we need a minute."

"No—we don't. At least, I don't." She took a deep breath and lifted her head, meeting Carlton's gaze, drawing from the quiet support reflected within the endless blue and unashamedly leaning on it. "I can do this if you can."

Henry and the Chief faded into the background as they stared at each other. A quick glance down revealed the pen still in Carlton's hand, long fingers moving along its length but lacking the tension of earlier. Looking more like a caress.

"Are you sure, O'Hara?"

Her stomach clenching—part nerves, part fear, part excitement, even, if she was completely honest—she mustered up a smile. It felt a little thin and if the slight rise of Carlton's eyebrow was anything to go by, probably looked it, too. "I think you need to practice calling me Juliet. At least, every once in a while."

He returned her smile, but it didn't reach his eyes which had taken on the silvery-gray cast that was a dead giveaway that he was worried, along with the deep line bisecting his brows. "The minute you say so," he said very softly, but loud enough for Henry and Vick to hear every word, "the minute it doesn't feel right, we pull the plug, you got it? We'll get these bastards some other way."

And because she knew he'd be there for her, she was now able to move in to reassure him—a hand on his arm again, a smile that felt more genuine, prompting his expression to relax, though it remained watchful.

"It'll be okay, Carlton. _We_ can do this."

He shook his head, a wry smile relaxing his features further and reaching his eyes, bringing shades of blue back. After tucking the pen safely away in his inside jacket pocket, he rose from the sofa and extended a hand to help her up. "If you say so, O'Ha—" He stopped at her look and corrected himself. "If you say so… Juliet."

She glanced down at his hand casually yet carefully holding hers. "I do."


	4. Chapter 4

**Prelude to a Kiss**

We know how it goes, yeah? No ownership in **psych**, no infringement intended, TPTB are very, very cool people and I'm just borrowing a corner of the sandbox.

What with FF being down all day, I got on a roll. And lo, we have two chapters.

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><p>It had been surprisingly easy, Juliet thought, as she stood in the suite's immense shower, the punishing spray from the multiple shower heads assaulting her with scalding hot water from all sides. For the past month she and Carlton had played their roles—roles that had come just as easily as Henry had said they would—standing a step or two closer together, stepping aside to have hushed conversations, spending off-hours together, at off-the-beaten track places. Hiking at one of the many parks just outside Santa Barbara, indulging Carlton's love of horses by going on a trail ride, him surprising her with a 1930s, Agatha Christie-themed dinner journey on a vintage steam-powered train. Never mind that she and Carlton solved the mystery inside of five minutes, the evening itself had been fun, no danger of being interrupted or tracked down by any friends or colleagues since they were up near San Luis Obispo.<p>

Near the end of their first week, they made contact with the agency and here, Carlton had risen to the occasion, sitting protectively close to her during the screening, nodding and smiling when asked if a girl would be acceptable, given the high number available for adoption, but with just enough reluctance their counselor had asked if he was absolutely _sure_.

Carlton had been ready with a wan smile and a line about how of course, every man dreamed of having a son, just like him, but that really, the important thing was having a family. The counselor had nodded, taken notes, and said of course, she understood but there had been a gleam in the woman's eyes—avid, like a shark that had just spotted prey—that made Juliet's hackles rise and her blood boil. Instinctively, she'd reached for Carlton's hand, shocked at its iciness as it closed around hers almost desperately.

It wasn't until after they'd left that she learned what that act had cost him as he silently drove to a gas station, threw the car into park, and hurried inside as fast as his long strides could carry him without actually breaking into a run. By the time he'd emerged, pale but calmer, she was ready with ginger ale, crackers, and even greater depths of respect for her partner, especially after he'd snarled, "I am going to _nail_ those affronts to humanity if it's the last damned thing I do, Juliet."

Their combined resolve had made even the overnights that Vick had mandated as necessary to sell their cover easier than expected. They decided his place was the better option because Shawn was far less likely to randomly drop in on Carlton than Juliet, although Carlton made certain to change the locks—just in case, he'd said, as he gave her a key. Even so, that first night had been odd—draped with a vaguely uncomfortable awareness that accompanied the realization they'd be spending a night together that wasn't on a stakeout.

But Juliet had come prepared with a pep talk on how they _would_ treat this like a stakeout—out-of-the-ordinary maybe, but part of the job. Plus, she'd come bearing their old equalizer—movies. Halfway through _Grease_, they'd both relaxed and spent the rest of the night watching movies, and drinking beer, before finally drifting off to sleep. The next morning, Juliet had woken, surprised to find herself tucked under a blanket on the loveseat, when she could have _sworn_ she'd fallen asleep on the floor, while Carlton lay sprawled on the nearby sofa, lashes casting dark shadows on his cheeks and relaxed in a way she'd never seen before.

She'd lain quietly for a long time that morning, doing nothing more than watching, entranced, never having seen him asleep before. Never having seen him so... peaceful. As he'd blinked, slowly coming awake, the startling blue of his eyes muted to something softer, something surprisingly vulnerable, she'd maintained her steady gaze , smiling as he registered her presence… and returned her smile.

Which sent any thoughts of considering their time together as some sort of modified stakeout straight out the window. But she tried. There was no reason to freak her partner out with the thoughts suddenly assailing her at random moments. The increasingly powerful sensation that their cover, this _make-believe_, felt all too real. It was amateurish, she scolded herself. A result of all their time together. Transference. A bunch of other terms she'd learned at the Academy.

Right?

Then came the second night they spent together when, while paying off the pizza guy, Carlton spotted an unfamiliar car, parked just far enough away to be unobtrusive, but close enough for surveillance. After coming back upstairs and placing the pizza on the table, he surprised the hell out of her by taking her in his arms and holding her close, sending her heart rate into an overdrive that she'd later explain away as a rush of adrenaline. One hand playing through her hair, fingertips teasing the sensitive skin of her neck, he'd leaned down and whispered in her ear they were being watched; picking up his cue, she'd drawn back, placing a hand on his cheek and smiling, acutely aware of their position near a window. She couldn't help the gasp that escaped as he turned his head and kissed her palm any more than she could help the pang of hurt she experienced at his apologetic expression as he did. They'd proceeded to share their pizza, Juliet at one point sinking playfully into his lap to offer him bites from her slice and drink from his beer, mindful of how intimate their shadowy forms would appear on the other side of the window and whispering in his ear that he didn't have to apologize for anything he felt necessary to protect their cover—that she honestly didn't mind.

She'd boldly punctuated that last with a kiss to his cheek, stopping just shy of his mouth, afraid that would send him toppling off the chair in shock and blow their story to hell. As it was, his entire body had tensed beneath hers, his fingers tightening on her hip and when she'd risen, it had been on slightly shaky legs and a lot warmer than a few sips of beer could have accounted for.

Juliet knew then she was playing with fire, but like a curious toddler, just couldn't seem to stay away from the source, justifying it as a means to the end. Arguing that the knowledge they were being watched effectively scratched their initial plans to utilize both of Carlton's bedrooms. That it would be patently stupid to jeopardize their cover over something so easily addressed. Especially when his king-sized bed had more than enough room to accommodate both of them comfortably. With a lot of room between them.

_Lot_ of room, considering how he started out clinging to the far edge of the mattress.

Luckily, she'd at least been able to convince him—after a fair amount of cajoling and a subtle move toward her sidearm—that _no_, it was not necessary for him to sleep on top of the covers not to mention, ridiculous for him to sleep fully clothed in his suit. And so what if they happened to wake up the next morning—and every morning after a night spent together thereafter—with both of them having gravitated toward the center of his big bed, his arm wrapped comfortably around her waist? That was just human desire for closeness, right?

_Right_.

Luckily, it didn't affect their working relationship… much. They continued on as usual, working cases, solving cases, Psych being successfully assigned to other teams and in a stroke of pure genius—not to mention, evil—on the Chief's part, being loaned out to the Coast Guard for a drug trafficking case that had sent Shawn out to sea more than two weeks earlier. And if there was a little more awareness between herself and Carlton—a little more care, a little more fear when a perp pulled a gun on him, a little more aggressiveness on his part when a thug threatened her with a knife—that was only a natural byproduct of so much time spent together and really, only served to reinforce their cover.

Right?

_Right?_

Juliet sighed and lowered her head, allowing the water from the rainfall showerhead to sluice through her hair and down her back.

All of this was well and good, but it didn't do a damned thing to explain how they'd gotten here—which had turned out to be Lake Tahoe, according to the embroidery on the plush complimentary robes—and apparently married. She stared at the ring on her finger as she spun the taps shut and reached for the towel waiting on the heated rack. Last thing either of them was able to recall clearly was their attendance at the agency's Get To Know Us Mixer—a monthly cocktail party for new parents and prospective clients to meet and exchange stories and experiences. Once again, Carlton had played his part impeccably although his hand, as it held hers, had trembled on more than one occasion—with nerves or anger, she wasn't sure. Probably both, given that she'd felt the same way once they realized that all the new parents had availed themselves of the agency's _special_ services and all the prospective parents were interested in said services.

Next thing either of them remembered—really remembered—was waking up, together, naked, and clearly a whole lot closer than they'd ever been before.

She would _not_ dwell on the snippets of sensation, the wisps of memory, that had assaulted her as she woke—that only grew stronger during the shower Carlton had insisted she take while he did some reconnaissance. She couldn't afford to dwell, no matter how damned _good_ those memories felt, skimming along the surface of her body along with the water, like the touch of a long-fingered hand or the warm, wet feel of a mouth learning every shadowy curve and hollow.

Staring at herself in the mirror as she wrapped herself in a robe she couldn't dwell on the sure knowledge that if he hadn't spotted those tiny pin pricks on her arm, they would have made love right there on the bathroom floor, fully conscious and situation be damned. The urge had been near overwhelming, desperate to learn him in the light of day—to experience everything he'd done that had left her so deliciously achy and sore, yet ready to go again and again and again, until they both dropped from sheer exhaustion and she maybe had another hickey or two to go with the utterly impressive one the man had left at the base of her throat.

If she knew any one thing, though, it was that Carlton would have hated himself afterward.

And if she knew any one other thing, it was that she wouldn't have. The absolute certainty with which that thought occurred brought with it more questions and potential ramifications Juliet was going to have to seriously consider.

Unfortunately, any considerations, serious or otherwise, would have to wait, because now it appeared they had _two_ cases to solve and she had a genuinely freaked out partner and new husband to deal with.


	5. Chapter 5

**Prelude to a Kiss**

We know how it goes, yeah? No ownership in **psych**, no infringement intended, TPTB are cool cats and I'm just digging away in a corner of the sandbox.

Sorry this one took way longer than expected. Not to mention, a bit of an unexpected left turn. Perhaps the muse will be kind and allow Chapter 6 to emerge a little more readily, hm?

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><p>The Tahoe Sun was one hell of an elegant resort. Probably one of the most beautiful hotels he'd ever been in, period, and that included many of the ritzy joints in Santa Barbara at which he'd worked cases since when it came to crime, stupidity didn't spare the wealthy. In fact, it seemed to add a certain impenetrable layer of idiocy that coupled with typical wealthy asshat arrogance, made those cases memorable—for all the wrong damned reasons.<p>

The Tahoe Sun was also, Carlton was discovering, remote as hell. Not on Lake Tahoe proper, but rather up in the Northstar Ski Resort area, according to the brochure he'd procured from the front desk after ascertaining that yes, he and, dear God, _Mrs. Lassiter_ were registered guests at the hotel, courtesy of the very generous friends who'd paid—cash—for their long weekend stay, including the wedding ceremony held in the resort's on-site chapel the evening before.

Oh, and by the way, sir, would he and _Mrs. Lassiter_ please accept the Tahoe Sun's congratulations on their wedding? The in-suite dining that was part of their wedding package was available at their request, likewise, the spa appointments could be arranged at their convenience, and anything else the Sun could do to make their honeymoon more memorable, please, all he or _Mrs. Lassiter_ had to do was ask and the staff would be most pleased to oblige.

Carlton might have been freaked straight into next week by waking up to find himself naked, lying next to Juliet, and _married_. Might have been frustrated as _hell_ by the knowledge that he'd made love to Juliet—multiple times apparently—and couldn't freaking remember any of it. Frustrated twice over by how damned close they'd come to making love when he _could_ have remembered it, but dammit, at the heart of it all, he was still a cop. So shoving his cynical nature to the fore and ever-mindful of their cover, he'd merely nodded, thanked the concierge, and backed the hell away to gather what few wits he still possessed.

He was married.

To Juliet.

Married.

_And he didn't particularly want to do anything to alter that state of affairs._

He shook the thought off as quickly as it had appeared.

_Focus, Lassiter. _

Such thoughts were completely inappropriate—not to mention, improbable. A waste of time. No matter what had almost happened between them while conscious and aware and clearly wanting—

_Focus._

Coffee would help. Thank God for the hotel employees whose sole purpose seemed to be circulating throughout the lobby bearing trays of complimentary coffee and hot chocolate, wisps of steam rising from heavy ceramic mugs, no doubt intended to warm guests coming in off the slopes or idiots needing a shot of life-giving caffeine after waking up, naked and _married_.

He suppressed a groan as he inhaled the first steaming mug and reached for a second before the perky little peon got more than a step away. So what if he'd just scalded the sensation straight from his tongue? In lieu of a cold shower and maybe intense psychotherapy, he _needed_ coffee.

Okay—first things first—assess immediate surroundings. Beautiful, as noted, with soaring multistoried windowed walls overlooking ski runs and slopes of snow-dusted pines, rising to sharply-etched mountains, the whole of it backed by crystal blue skies. The lobby itself was modeled to reflect its surroundings with comfortable leather seating arranged around wood and stone fireplaces—a lot of copper and ceramics in tones that reflected the nature beyond the windows, offset by fresh greenery and floral arrangements. Elegant without being prissy —equally comfortable for men and women.

Which had the irrational result of pissing him off. This was just the kind of place _he_ could actually feel comfortable at. The kind of place he might have envisioned for a romantic vacation if he, you know, had reason to take a romantic vacation. Or, well, dammit, a honeymoon.

_Irrelevant, Lassiter._

What _was_ relevant was how the hell had they gotten here? The necessity of keeping their cover intact for the time being had had the unfortunate side effect of limiting what he could ask of the concierge without arousing suspicion, so there had been little learned there. Okay, so also relevant was why _here_? Why this place? The first thing that occurred was the distance from Santa Barbara and familiar surroundings. More likely though, he surmised as he consulted the brochure once more, it had more to do with the sheer remoteness. While the resort was something of its own contained world and there was a tiny village adjacent for the ski resort as a whole, there was otherwise very little in the way of civilization. If someone wanted to be cut off from the rest of the world yet have all the creature comforts, this was a pretty good place to do it.

It still didn't make sense, though. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Carlton mentally ran through everything he knew—precious little, that—finally facing up to what he'd been avoiding. That his best shot at figuring out what in the hell had happened lay in doing what he'd been doing for the last six years: working with his partner.

"Time to man up, Lassiter," he muttered as he set his empty mug on the tray of yet another cheerful peon and after skimming the brochure again, set off on his next errand.

"May I help you, sir?"

Carlton paused uneasily on the threshold of the resort's clothing boutique—a dizzying combination of everything from skiwear to eveningwear. What he wanted lay somewhere in between and he hoped this lady, who looked like a kindly great-aunt, albeit in nicer clothes than any of _his_ great-aunts had ever worn, could help.

"I- uh—" Helplessly, he held up the bag he'd brought down from the suite. "I need help," he finally stammered, feeling the tips of his ears heating and desperately wishing he was somewhere—anywhere—else. Juliet wouldn't care, he knew. If it had been her, she would've approached this sort of task in her usual no-nonsense manner, opinions be damned. But while he could give a rat's ass what strangers thought of _him_, it bothered him immensely the possibility anyone would entertain even the slightest negative thought about Juliet. Wandering through the lobby of a resort in a wrinkled cocktail dress, a missing hook at the top of the zipper, just seemed so… so…

Yeah, well, whatever it was, it left him feeling snappish and ready rip bloody chunks out of anyone who'd make the wrong assumptions.

"Eloped, did you?" the lady, whose name tag read Elizabeth, said with a kind smile.

"I- I… yes," he finally sighed, oddly relieved to admit it out loud, even if "eloped" wasn't precisely how he would have chosen to describe it.

Elizabeth's smile deepened, revealing dimples and a true delight. "How lovely."

Again, not exactly how he would have described it, but she seemed so genuinely pleased, that almost against his will, Carlton found himself grinning in return and in that little corner of his brain that was ruthlessly honest, he knew it wasn't because of any need to keep their cover.

"What gave it away?"

"The ring's shiny and the expression is caught somewhere between bewildered and terrified."

Carlton spared a glance down at the hand holding the bag. Funny, he hadn't worn a wedding ring in more than seven years—would've thought wearing one now might have felt uncomfortable or at the very least, odd, but no.

"I'm also guessing it was a spur-of-the-moment elopement, hence what brings you to my little corner of the resort, yes?"

Carlton considered the sweet-faced woman with a renewed air of surprise. Elizabeth would've made a helluva detective. Or at least a kickass profiler.

"You could say that," he replied dryly, as in had no damned clue it was going to happen. "So I need to pick something out for—" His voice hitched for a moment before quietly adding, "My wife," and tried not to dwell on how nice it was to use those words again.

Truth was, he'd liked being married. He liked knowing he belonged to someone and vice-versa. Even if in his history it had been more a case of wishful thinking than reality, the idea—and ideal—still appealed.

"Just something she can wear today," he explained. "She can come back for anything else she needs later." If they even stayed that long. Once again, the need to plan—to figure things out with his partner—assailed him.

Elizabeth nodded and took the bag, obviously suppressing a grin as she took in the slight tear where the hook was missing above the zipper of the pale blue dress. "We have a wonderful tailor on site," she murmured, directing a questioning glance at Carlton.

"Uh… great," he replied, pulling at his open collar, grateful that in the desire to not look like a complete victim of a Night Before, he'd chosen to forego the tie and jacket.

"I take it she'll be needing... everything?" Elizabeth asked delicately, her meaning clear.

Carlton felt the heat not just in his face but damn near everywhere, especially in places where it wasn't prudent to feel heat—at least in public venues. "Yes," he choked out, pulling at his collar again even as he mentally railed at himself He was nearly forty-three, a cop, and aside from having been married before, wasn't exactly a neophyte. He _would_ get through this with some dignity. Not much, but some.

"Relax, young man," she admonished as she led the way to the ladies' side of the boutique. "As we've already established, this is hardly my first rodeo."

Yeah. So much for dignity. Clear _that_ was a lost cause.

"Now," she said, placing the bag on a nearby counter, "before I send you off to pick your own things, which you also obviously need," she added with another amused quirk to the edges of her mouth. "Tell me a bit about your new bride."

_Finally_. Something he could answer without sounding like a complete dolt. "She's _so_ smart. Funny. As at home drinking beer and playing softball as she is at a cocktail party. Incredibly good at her job and I'm not sure I tell her that often enough. She's always got a smile on her face and a kind word for people, even idiots who don't deserve it. Her hair smells like peaches. She's had questionable taste in men in the past, but when it comes down to it, she's put up with me longer than any of them so I guess I can't be too critical and _what_—?"

Elizabeth stood, first pressed to her mouth, tears turning her pale blue eyes bright with obvious humor. Taking a deep breath, she collected herself enough to say, "I was thinking more along the lines of height, coloring, and any style preferences that you might be aware of."

He blinked. "Oh."

The humor settled into something gentler and definitely kind that kept the hated blush somewhat at bay. "Oh, dear boy, you have it _bad_, don't you?"

"You have no idea," he muttered more to himself as he shoved a hand through his hair and attempted to gather his thoughts. "About five-six, blonde and blue-eyed. Wears a lot of blue. Lavender looks really good on her, too."

Other than the last bit, he managed to deliver the basics in his dispassionate detective's voice, afraid if he got started again— how her hair was really more multiple warm shades of honey than true blonde these days and her eyes were a lovely dark blue-gray with hints of green if the light hit them just right and how absolutely, inescapably _perfect_ her body had felt beneath his—he'd never stop talking about her. Never stop thinking about the fact that for the moment, she was his _wife_. Which would lead to the depressing thought that sooner, rather than later, that was a status that would have to change. And she'd go back to simply being his partner—if they even managed to find their way back to that point.

And then the fear that had been dogging him since the moment the hotel room door had clicked quietly behind himself would swamp him and leave him unable to breathe.

This might be it for him and Juliet. Setting aside the entire cockup of finding themselves married, Carlton had to come to terms with the fact that their professional partnership might just be experiencing its final moments. After all, it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that she might find it too difficult to face him on a daily basis with the knowledge—if not the actual memory—of what had transpired between them. And if that was the case, he'd have no choice but to let her go. Or more likely, go himself. On a practical level, partners couldn't work with that sort of tension between them. People got hurt that way. On a personal level—hell, he couldn't do that to her. It might damn near kill him, but he'd done enough. He couldn't cause her that sort of discomfort on a daily basis.

"Young man?" Elizabeth's concerned voice dragged him out of his own head. "Er…"

"Carlton," he responded to her unasked question.

"Carlton," she repeated softly. "That's a lovely strong name." She smiled again. "It appears to fit you rather well."

He shrugged. It was his name. Source of both pride and torment most of his life. Somewhat harsh and unmusical until the first time he'd heard Juliet say it, no doubt in exasperation, yet still emerging softer than he'd ever heard it.

Oh, yeah. He had it bad. Not that Juliet had ever realized, thank God. The only ones who ever had were Elizabeth and Marlowe, who'd very kindly let him off the hook after he had gone on, _again_, about how damned annoying and immature Spencer was and how there was no way in hell he was good enough for Juliet, _again_. He had a sneaking suspicion Henry might be aware, but unlike his son, had a tendency to keep his opinions to himself and possessed the good sense not to stick his nose in people's personal business unless absolutely necessary. Like this damned case.

Carlton wasn't sure whether he'd feel the need to buy Henry a drink or punch him in the nose next time he saw him.

Elizabeth studied him with a surprisingly sharp, assessing stare. "You're not experiencing regrets, are you?"

Regrets? Oh, hell, yes. But not the ones the kind lady who'd been much nicer to him than ladies tended to be might be imagining.

"No," he said, allowing the vision of Juliet, the morning sun touching her with shades of rose and gold, smiling and looking as if she belonged right there beside him—as if being together was what she wanted too—to briefly flash in his mind. He'd have to start burying those images soon, he knew. Maybe only let them out on holidays and special occasions. Late nights when he wasn't going to be sleeping anyway and he and Bushmill's would be getting intimate. Otherwise, he was liable to drive himself completely insane.

But for the moment… for the moment…

"No regrets."


	6. Chapter 6

**Prelude to a Kiss**

We know how it goes, yeah? No ownership in **psych**, no infringement intended, TPTB got everything and I'm just an admirer… admiring… from a distance… spinning my little tales.

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><p>Carlton swiped the key card through the lock, pushed the room door open, and came to a complete, tongue-swallowing halt. Wrapped in one of the resorts plush white robes, Juliet stood silhouetted against the big windows, stroking the petals of a small, slightly wilted bouquet of pale pink roses with an expression he could only describe as wistful.<p>

God_dammit_.

Yes, more than once she'd declared her disdain for the institution of marriage, but he was well aware— mostly because Spencer couldn't help but blab every damned thing to Guster and Guster was a worse gossip than a village's worth of nosy Italian women—that like many women, Juliet O'Hara also had a very clear vision for the kind of wedding she was planning to never have.

Traditional, but with a twist. White gown, but maybe barefoot on the beach. There would be bridesmaids and groomsmen and a cake and you know, guests. All of that superficial crap that only served to enable an already overinflated industry and she damn well knew it, but that some small part of her still hungered for.

Definitely not an elopement. Definitely not held in a resort chapel in the back of beyond, no matter how nice that back of beyond happened to be. And he was damned sure that he didn't fit her ideal of a groom. Hell, ideal _anything_. And yet…

And yet…

The _look_ she gave him as she glanced up and smiled.

"Hey."

With some difficulty he managed to swallow and not take his tongue in the process.

"Hey," he replied as he pushed the door shut. And even though he was fairly certain he knew the answer, he nevertheless felt compelled to ask, "How are you doing?"

"All things considered, pretty good." She set the bouquet on a small table, carefully, it seemed like to Carlton, and picked up a folded sheet. "So I guess we really did do it."

Carlton nodded as he approached, depositing the bags containing the fruits of his labors on the sofa as he did. "It would seem that way, yes." His gaze skimmed over the marriage certificate he'd discovered safely tucked in his jacket pocket before he left, bearing their names and signatures, clear and most assuredly their own.

"Looks like whatever we were given, we lost more than a day," she said, her fingertips glancing across the date at the top of the document.

He nodded, having noticed the same upon first discovering their phones. The cocktail party had been on Wednesday evening. The date and time on their phones had shown it to be Friday morning. And according to the certificate, they'd been married late Thursday morning.

"Takes a good seven hours to get here from Santa Barbara, so I guess it's not such a surprise. Now we just have to figure out why." He walked past her to where she'd been standing at the window, taking in the spectacular mountain vista. Very quietly he said, "I called the state police—explained the situation. They're sending a tech to collect samples."

"I thought we agreed not to use our phones, though. Just in case." Since under the circumstances, it had seemed too damned convenient that the phones of two known police officers had been left with them. Something, as Juliet had pointed out, was definitely hinky, a suspicion Carlton and his natural paranoia agreed with wholeheartedly.

"I didn't." From his pocket he pulled out the pair of pre-paid phones he'd purchased in the gift shop and tossed them to the sofa before turning his gaze back toward the view again.

"I called Vick, too."

"And what did you tell her?"

"Where we were and that we'd been brought here under some sort of sedation."

The force of Juliet's silence had him turning to face her.

"What?"

She crossed her arms and hit him with her typically direct stare. "Anything else?"

He matched her, stare for stare. "No."

"Why not?"

Normally, he'd be on the defensive, maybe with a nice side of belligerent.

Normally, he'd be blustering something along the lines of he had no idea in _hell_ how to tell their boss that they'd somehow wound up married.

Normally, he'd be arguing why did they have to tell anyone anyhow. How relevant was it, really? Wasn't as if it was a state that was liable to last very long.

Carlton stared at Juliet, wrapped in white, her hair tumbling in soft waves around her face, the vestiges of what they'd done still evident in the swollen redness of her mouth and the unmistakably possessive mark he'd left low on her neck. Yeah, they'd long since left _normal_ way the hell in the dust and he had no goddamned idea how to proceed. There was no manual, no standard operating procedure, nothing he could rely on to guide him other than his own instincts and those? Outside of police work, tended to suck.

He turned away from that direct, questioning stare, unable to answer.

_Liar._

Afraid to answer.

As he stared, unseeing, out the window, he felt her come up beside him.

"Carlton?"

"Yeah?"

"Why didn't you tell her?" Her voice was extraordinarily gentle—the voice he could tell anything to—yet he _still_ couldn't tell her. _How_ could he tell her? Even with her hand slipping into his, comfortably, the way it had so many times over the last month—far more often that had ever been necessary he realized in a dim corner of his brain. Automatically, his thumb began meditatively mapping the surface of the hand he now knew as well as his own, save for the new, subtle texture of the ring she wore, the motion soothing his frayed nerves—the way it had so many times over the past month.

"I know we're going to have to tell her soon enough. I just…" He took a deep breath trying to think of how to admit what had compelled him to keep such pertinent information to himself without admitting why. "I just didn't want to talk about it yet. Not with her."

Or anyone else who actually knew them.

As he spoke, Carlton's gaze tracked a lone skier navigating a steep slope in long swooping arcs before going airborne, confident, so damned certain that he'd have a safe, steady landing and continue on his merry way down the mountain, graceful and free. Never in his life had he ever had that sort of certainty—his personal history was littered with ravines and hidden obstacles and innumerable crash landings resulting in damn near everything being broken.

"Can I ask you something?"

_No. God, please, don't, Juliet. Please just let it go. Please._

"Yes."

Barely above a whisper she asked, "Before last night, had you ever given anything like this a thought?"

His defenses slammed into place so fast, he could practically hear the metallic clang echoing through the room. "No."

Softer still, she retorted, "Liar."

He continued staring, not out the window, but rather at their reflections, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder, yet somehow, she appeared the stronger of the two of them.

"Yep."

"Why, Carlton?"

Juliet's reflection leaned against his as his reflection's arm naturally went around her shoulders and drew her to stand in front of him, their translucent images blending seamlessly into each other and the brilliant background of blue and white and green. They were so perfect, those two—they fit. It was easier to allow the conversation to unfold between those two ethereal beings who were somehow more real.

"Have to protect myself somehow."

Easier to pretend those words came from that transparent version of himself. That version couldn't hide a damned thing. At least, he could fool himself into thinking that until the moment her reflection turned and the flesh-and-blood, three-dimensional Juliet suddenly stared up at him, those deep blue eyes soft, yet powerfully intent.

"Not from me you don't."

Hell. There was no more relying on the reflection when his entire field of vision—his entire being—was consumed by Juliet. No relying on bluster or lying or any kind of bullshit tactics, not that any of it had ever done him a damned bit of good where she was concerned. Nope, this—from tracing the swollen outline of her mouth with a fingertip, to sliding his hand into her hair and gently pulling her even closer—was now _all_ on him.

"_Especially_ from you," he murmured just before his mouth met hers.


	7. Chapter 7

**Prelude to a Kiss**

As usual, not a single bit of ownership in **psych**, no matter how much I might wish, no infringement intended, TPTB got everything and I'm just an admirer… admiring… from a distance… spinning my little tales.

I had fully intended this to be a longer, multi-scene chapter, but seeing as it's been slow going lately, I figured I'd get this bad boy up. Maybe, just maybe, we'll have CH 8 by tonight.

* * *

><p>Oh.<p>

Oh.

_Oh, God._

It was the excitement and thrill and sheer newness of a first kiss married to familiarity and knowledge as her mouth immediately opened beneath his, his tongue teasing the curve of her lower lip before leisurely stroking hers with a firm, erotic suggestiveness that turned her knees to jello.

Was this what she'd missed last night? For the last month? The last six _years_?

_Oh, God._

Intoxicating.

Addicting.

Maddening because she _wanted to remember_.

In lieu of that, however, they had this… dear God, did they ever have _this_.

Juliet would have never imagined that such a narrow, sharply defined mouth would be so flexible and soft and… and… _warm_, and yet, she knew exactly how it would feel, molding to hers with no hesitation, fitting so precisely. Feeling so utterly perfect and prompting a craving for more. Tasting of coffee and cinnamon and long, dark nights spent wrapped around each other, closing out the rest of the world, she needed more of him. She needed _all_ of him.

Stretching up on tiptoe, she molded herself more closely along the length of his body, gasping into his mouth as one sure hand dropped to cup her ass and haul her even closer, making it clear—letting her _feel_— just how much he wanted her.

A long, drawn-out sigh segued into a low moan as that warm, sensuous mouth trailed kisses along her jaw, down her neck, and latched onto the still-tender spot, causing fiery tendrils of sensation to curl along her spine and sparking goosebumps across her skin. Her hands curled into the thick, surprisingly soft waves of Carlton's hair as he delivered a single, devastatingly gentle bite followed by the tip of his tongue tracing soothing, maddening patterns across the sensitive skin.

"Carlton," she whispered, gasping again as he nudged the lapel of her robe aside, his hand slipping beneath the heavy terry to cup her breast. Again, the thrilling sense of a first time overwhelmed her, even as her body ground against his familiarly, knowing how his thumb would play across the nipple, how she'd fit into the palm of his hand, the callouses a rough-sweet texture. Her thigh rubbed against his restlessly as she shuddered and sank her teeth into his cloth-covered shoulder, eliciting a groan that she felt all the way down to her toes.

Her own hands knew their path, teasing the bare, inviting curve of his neck with her nails and briefly digging into his shoulders before moving to his shirt front, undoing each button effortlessly, moving smooth cotton aside to kiss each bit of warm, hair-roughened skin exposed, making his head fall back as both his hands clutched her waist. Juliet thrilled to the feel of his gasp beneath her palm as the tip of her tongue ghosted across each sensitive nipple—shivered at the groan she recognized deep in her bones as her other hand cupped his groin. She'd elicited that sound last night, she knew. A lot. Breathing deep, her arousal rose as she caught hints of herself combined with his scent, wisps of memory continuing their assault—the feel of his body over hers and in hers, this man, so impatient and often rough, being so gentle with her. So careful and tender. Until she'd begged for more.

"Carlton, _please_—"

At her plea his eyes opened, the blue glazed and heated with a combination of lust and something more—something else she absolutely recognized even if she couldn't put words to it yet. But as his mouth opened the first note of true unfamiliarity pierced their bubble in the form of a loud, insistent, ringing.

"Son of a _bitch_."

Yet he didn't move, other than to drop his head to her shoulder, the rare show of vulnerability prompting her to cup one hand protectively over his head while the other stroked the long length of his back, rising and falling rapidly, his breath coming in warm, impatient gusts against her skin.

"It's okay," she murmured, though _okay_ was the last damned thing she felt. Two more minutes—hell, thirty more seconds—and they would have been naked and sprawled across that insanely large bed dominating the next room. Or the floor. Whatever.

Instead, her body was humming with heat and arousal and damnably epic levels of frustration as the stupid phone continued ringing.

She wasn't sure if the Fates hated them or were trying to protect them.

"You'd better answer." Lifting his head she looked into the endless blue of his eyes, searching for a glimpse of what she'd seen just prior to their interruption, but while considerable vestiges of lust remained, the defenses were sliding firmly into place, shielding his deeper self. Always so afraid to let anyone see too deeply—even her.

Especially her.

Screw that.

Reaching up, she brushed the gentlest of kisses against his mouth, returned to its stern, unyielding lines. It was going to be a mission of hers to relax that mouth into the soft, devastatingly sensual feature she now knew it could be.

But only in private. And only for her, dammit.

With a final kiss that elicited a flicker of confusion even as the heat continued unabated, she pushed him toward the sofa, where one of the pre-paid phones continued its insistent ringing.

Bastard.

But still—

Hugging her elbows, she turned toward the windows, picking up the same note of frustration in Carlton's brusque "Lassiter," as she felt. Bitch of it was, frustrating though it might be, the interruption was damned fortuitous. Maybe it was stupid to think they needed time after all they'd obviously done, everything they'd already been through, but Juliet knew Carlton—and she knew herself. They were detectives—answers were their lifeblood.

They couldn't realistically move forward without answers.

And answers required time.

But after they got their answers... all bets were off. The biggest problem she'd face then would be Carlton himself, she knew. She could only count on his own insatiable curiosity. And if for some reason he managed to wrestle that curiosity into submission, using his formidable will to convince himself it was just a freak moment in the midst of a freak case, well then, she'd have to convince him.

Could be fun if she didn't kill him first.

"That was the tech—he'll be here in ten minutes."

She glanced up at her reflection to find him hovering behind her, but at a considerable distance, ghostly and untouchable in more ways than one. Probably good, although all she wanted was to burrow back into his warmth.

"I'm going to take a quick shower—you should get dressed." With a wave, he indicated the bags he'd deposited on the sofa.

Turning away from the window, she moved to the sofa where she pulled items from the bags. One bag revealed navy khakis, a pale blue button-down, and a charcoal fisherman's sweater along with assorted men's toiletries and accessories. From the other she pulled a pair of trim black wool slacks, a lavender turtleneck that made her fight back a smile and a tunic sweater, vibrant blues and greens and purples swirling together in a romantic mélange.

As she stroked the impossibly soft cashmere she sighed and met his gaze. His expression was shuttered, hiding every damned thing unless one knew how to look deeper. The slight flush across his cheekbones and the hooded glance shifting between the sweater and her face told her all she needed to know. "It's beautiful. Thank you."

"You needed something to wear." He shrugged, hands shoved deep in his pockets. "Anything else you need, we'll go back later. I'm sure the department'll reimburse us. Oh, and the tailor is, um… fixing your dress."

"My dress?"

"The, uh… hook is missing." While he maintained his gaze, his flush deepened. "And the zipper's apparently broken."

"Oh." Warmth that didn't have a damned thing to do with embarrassment washed over her and pooled low in her belly, prompting her to take a step toward him—and another… and another… the fiery blue of his wide-eyed gaze pulling her closer with the inescapable force of a current.

"Juliet…" He sounded as if he was begging. To come closer—to stay away—she didn't know. What she did know was there was no damned way she could stay away from him. Even as she knew this wasn't the time.

"Take your shower," she said as she came to a stop half a step away from him. Far enough away to let him draw a shaky breath. Close enough for her to feel the heat of his body—to allow him to feel hers. Slowly, so he could draw away if he wanted, she took that final half-step.

He didn't move.

Rising, she lightly pressed her lips against his, the tip of her tongue tracing the seam of that firm mouth until it relaxed beneath hers, a slow breath escaping and bathing her skin with warmth.

"Oh, and just so you know," she whispered against his mouth as his hands latched onto her hips. "We're not done. Not by a long shot."


	8. Chapter 8

**Prelude to a Kiss**

Don't own a lick of **psych**, no infringement intended, TPTB got everything, I got nuthin' other than these silly little stories.

All right, as sort-of promised, another chapter. Moving closer to the mystery...

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><p>"Okay, just a little pinch—"<p>

Even though Juliet tried to will herself to remain still as Rob, the Friendly State Police Tech, efficiently slid the needle into her arm, she couldn't help but flinch, especially once he released the tourniquet and her blood rushed to fill the vial. She hated that sensation so much—hated the sudden lightheadedness sure not to be too far behind, given how much he was taking.

One vial…

Two…

A third…

"What the hell—you got a vampire working in your department or something?" Carlton took a step forward, murderous intent clear in his clenched fists and the deep slash bisecting his brows.

"Carlton," Juliet soothed, as she had so many times before, "he's just doing his job."

Rob, an older man, clearly experienced, both at his job and at dealing with a myriad of personalities didn't even blink. "Have to make sure I have enough samples to test," he replied mildly. Smoothly, he removed the needle and applied a cotton ball to the tiny wound before bending her elbow up.

"Hold it there," he said as he carefully stored her samples in a tray and turned to Carlton. "Your turn, sir." He beckoned to the spot beside Juliet on the sofa.

"I'll sit over here, thanks," Carlton said as he approached an armchair—set as far as possible from Juliet's end of the sofa.

"Detective Lassiter, I've already got everything set up here, it'll be easier—"

"And really, how difficult can it be to move a few test tubes and some needles, for crap's sake?" Carlton groused as he lowered himself into the armchair and crossed his arms, his expression a study in sheer pig-headedness.

As Juliet sighed, Rob turned to her. "Is he always this difficult?"'

"He's generally worse," she snapped, meeting Carlton's glare with one of her own, even as she fought against the dizzying sensation threatening to overtake her.

"Detectives," Rob muttered, _sotto voce,_ while Juliet continued to stare at Carlton, not in the slightest bit intimidated by the patented Lassiter glare, though she would cop to feeling a hair queasy. Would serve him right if she threw up all over him.

"Carlton, stop being an ass and let the man do his job." She tried for exasperated—the tone perfected over the years that generally made him realize he was being an idiot—but instead heard her words emerge weak and thready as her breath caught in her chest, her heart pounding almost painfully.

Through the black dots swimming before her vision she saw Carlton's eyes widen—next thing she knew, she was bent forward, Rob's steady voice instructing her to take slow deep breaths while blessedly familiar hands supported her head and rubbed her back. As the roaring in her ears subsided, she heard Rob ask, "How long have you been together?"

"Six years."

"And still able to work together, huh? That's impressive."

Dimly, Juliet noted that Carlton didn't bother to correct Rob's inaccurate interpretation of "together." For the moment, she'd take that as a win.

"You okay?" His voice was very close, low and intimate.

Still focused on maintaining a steady inhale, exhale, she reached up and grasped one of his hands, giving it a slight squeeze. After a few more breaths she was able to lift her head just far enough to meet his gaze, deep blue with worry.

"The sooner he does his job—"

"I know." He sighed, his free hand stroking her hair. "I know," he repeated. In that low, intimate voice, the one meant just for her, he added, "I'm sorry," making her heart skip a beat. She could count on the fingers of one hand the times she'd ever heard him utter that phrase—and actually _mean_ it. Verbally apologizing, even when he knew he was in the wrong was simply not in the man's nature, though he _was_ prone to making up for his transgressions in other ways. Ways that mattered just as much.

"It's okay." She squeezed his hand again. "I just want to get to the bottom of this."

Gingerly she sat up, swallowing hard as the lightheadedness washed over her again, but thankfully without the dance of the black dots performing within her line of sight. As Carlton extended one arm toward Rob, he made a point to keep the other firm around her, a blue, sideways glance practically daring her to protest. Not that he had any need to worry, Juliet thought, unabashedly leaning against him. Honestly, much as she hated feeling so damned weak and helpless, in this moment she couldn't be anything other than grateful.

"When was the last time you guys ate?" Rob asked as he tied the tourniquet off, a bit more snugly than necessary, it seemed, as Carlton's vein rose in an angry blue-green line, stark against his fair skin. Nothing less than he deserved, really, though it didn't stop her from lifting her hand to cover his.

"Not a damned clue," Carlton replied grimly as he kept his gaze resolutely focused on the vials filling with blood, though his hand trembled a bit beneath hers before shifting to lock them more closely together. "As I told your boss, we seem to have lost more than a day, so unless we were fed something while we were under, we're looking at a minimum thirty-six hours."

"Damn," Rob muttered as he pressed a cotton ball to Carlton's elbow. "All right, I'm just going to take some hair samples and then ask you each for a urine sample and we'll be done. Then, you two need to get something to eat. Don't put it off," he warned with a knowing look at both of them. "I know how you detective-types can be—married to one myself," he added with a grin. "You won't be able to process evidence or even recognize it worth a damn if your brains are scrambled from hunger and dehydration."

After collecting the rest of the samples, Rob packed up his supplies and prepared to leave. "I'm going to put a rush on these—see if we can get a handle on what you were dosed with. And oh, by the way," he added as they walked him to the door, "my boss asked me to pass on that your boss is on her way up. Expects to be here sometime late this afternoon."

"Thanks," Carlton said before closing the door behind Rob with a sigh that Juliet felt as keenly as if it been her own. They wouldn't have much longer before they'd have to come clean to Vick about at the very least their married state which would mean subsequently, Henry would find out and of course, Shawn, for whom she'd barely spared a thought. Frankly, he was way the hell down the list of her concerns, which should have you know, _concerned_ her, in and of itself, but oddly, didn't.

She'd worry about that later. Or not.

The person who concerned her the most was leaning against the door, staring blindly up at the ceiling, no doubt imagining the worst of the worst case scenarios because that was simply how his damned, paranoid, negative, couldn't ever conceive of the positives, man-brain worked. Not that there were a huge number of positives, really, but that was besides the point. The point was, she knew him. Knew how his mind worked and knew that he was simply hard-wired to latch onto the negative and dismiss the glimmer of any positives, because those never worked his way anyhow. And for a man who valued control so highly, to have the information get out that he'd lost control in such a massive, life-changing sort of way, even if it was a situation into which he'd been manipulated, would have to rank up there as the most negative of the negatives. So the big danger here was that the more people who knew about what had happened between them—even the sketchiest of details—the more likely Carlton would be to shut down, the walls going up higher and more impenetrable than before.

She needed time and time was what they were rapidly running out of.

In a wild, desperate flight of fancy, she half-hoped this case would go on, oh… indefinitely, even though she knew their involvement in it was likely about to come to a close. Someone else would be given the task of breaking this kidnapping ring and you know, something about that really irritated the hell out of her.

She and Carlton could _do_ this. They would.

"Come on, partner."

Never mind the words she'd used a thousand times with him were punctuated by the still somewhat new gesture of her taking his hand, her fingers smoothly interlocking with his. She took heart from the fact that not only did he not resist her overture, he tightened his fingers, drawing their palms flush against each other.

"What are we going to do?" he asked helplessly, eyes huge and blue and looking to her for support much in the way she so often looked to him.

"First, we are going to get some breakfast."

He shook his head. "Juliet—"

"Stop." She held up her free hand, cutting off his protest. "I _know_, Carlton." Without hesitation, she put her hand against his cheek, rough still, since he hadn't had the opportunity to shave. "And after breakfast, we're going to start unraveling this blasted mystery and figure out what the hell is going on."

His mouth pressed into a firm, tense line. She so desperately wanted to smooth that line with her thumb, soothe it into the relaxed shape she'd already become addicted to, but she also couldn't push him too fast. Especially with his low-voiced admission of, "I'm lost, Juliet—I don't have a goddamned clue where to start."

That he'd admit that out loud—even if it was only to her—spoke to just how frustrated he was. He loved always having the answers, or at least, charging forward, secure in the knowledge of what path to take—even if it was the wrong damned path sometimes. But over the last six years he'd also become so much more adept at being steered in the correct direction. At least when the suggestion came from her.

"Good thing I do, then." Unable to resist, she brushed her thumb against his mouth before allowing her hand to fall away. "Do you trust me?"

He snorted. "Don't be stupid—you know I do," he retorted, a hint of the familiar Lassiter bravado pushing to the fore. Another partner might be annoyed. She, on the other hand, found it sort of heartwarming and reassuring, which probably said something incredibly disturbing about her.

"You know I do," he repeated, his tone softening along with the expression in his eyes. "More than anyone."

Or maybe not.


	9. Chapter 9

**Prelude to a Kiss**

Not a bit of **psych **belongs to me, no infringement intended, TPTB got everything, I got nuthin' other than the yarns I spin.

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><p>"Care to repeat that, detectives?"<p>

It wasn't as if Carlton could blame Vick. He was knee deep in the experience and could still hardly believe it himself, despite all evidence pointing to its reality.

Beside him, Juliet shifted yet her gaze was direct and her voice steady as she replied, "We're married, Chief. Apparently, upon our arrival here yesterday, we were ushered to the resort's chapel, where we were issued a license and married."

Carlton was fairly certain it was simply his imagination that she leaned imperceptibly closer on the word "married." Imagination or no, though, he'd take it. Needed the reassurance that his partner stood—or sat, rather—beside him. His rock, as much as he tried to be hers because damn, if entering the resort hotel room where Vick and Henry and additional plainclothes personnel from the state police had set up shop hadn't qualified as one of the hardest things he'd ever done in his life—surpassing even signing his divorce papers. Or acknowledging that Juliet and Spencer were, indeed, together.

"I see." Yet Vick's expression clearly indicated that no, she really didn't see.

Predictably, both Vick and Henry, after expressing relief that both of them were safe and for the most part, unharmed, had gaped like landed trout after they initially dropped their bombshell. Check that—Vick had gaped, Henry, after a momentary widening of the eyes, had settled back with that steady, penetrating stare that his idiot son had inherited. Henry's was far more terrifying to Carlton, though, since he was a hell of a lot more patient than his son and a _lot_ more insightful. Not that Carlton would ever utter the admission out loud, but outside of Chief Fenich, Henry had been the single biggest influence on his career. As a young detective climbing the ranks he'd aspired to live up to the legend of Henry Spencer. Okay, he aspired to kick his ass and surpass the legend in every way possible, but still, it _had_ been a grudging respect for the man's skills and abilities that had driven him.

"No one noticed anything unusual about your behavior?" Henry asked, lifting his head from studying their marriage certificate.

Carlton shook his head. "Every indication seems to be that our behavior was typical—" His voice caught, reluctant to finish the statement, even though the words hadn't been his own.

But once again, Juliet saved his ass, smoothly inserting, "Typical eloping couple behavior," with the same cool, _I dare you to contradict me_ expression she'd worn since the moment they'd first faced Vick and Henry. "The clerk said we appeared a bit giddy and happy and not in the slightest bit out of the ordinary, really."

Carlton noted her judicious editing of the last bit, which had actually been, "not in the slightest bit out of the ordinary for a couple who's madly in love," delivered with a sappy, maybe even a little sweet, smile.

Clerk probably said that to every damned couple who waltzed through the resort chapel, all starry-eyed, whether it was with over-idealized expectations or too much booze or some other mind-altering substance.

Good call to edit.

Irrelevant.

Besides, it was private.

And not true.

At least, not as far as Vick or Henry or even Juliet was concerned, dammit.

Although what the hell she'd meant by that whispered, "We're not done—not by a long shot," had dogged him throughout the day as had the memories of that earth-shattering kiss they'd shared.

Hell. Kiss _nothing_.

It'd been more.

It had been _everything_.

Not that he'd ever claim to be any kind of an expert where relationships were concerned, but that embrace? Far as he was concerned, it had been the absolute definition of making love, whether or not actual consummation had taken place and what the hell was she thinking and never mind that, because he was an idiot and needed to _focus, _goddammit.

"Were you able to get any insight at all into who these 'friends' were who arranged the whole thing?" Vick asked as Henry handed the certificate off to the CSI who would be dusting it for prints.

"Well—" Juliet began and for the first time, faltered.

"Natural assumption of course, is that it was someone from the adoption agency, but there's only so much we've been able to find out, since we've made a point of maintaining cover," Carlton finished, once again imagining he felt her leaning slightly into him. "But we did get a lucky break—our DVD was ready when we went by the chapel."

"DVD?" Henry's eyebrows rose.

"Recording of the ceremony. Part of our… wedding package, apparently." Juliet's voice was quiet as she fished the disc from her purse and held it in her lap. "It's a long shot, since the clerk did say something about how nice it was the 'friends' who brought us in understood our desire that the ceremony be just us so they declined to stay, but who knows what might actually be on the recording."

"You haven't watched it?" Vick asked.

"Haven't had a chance," Carlton responded curtly.

More like scared shitless. From the moment the sappy-smiled clerk had handed them the DVD, cooing inanities about how sweet they'd looked the night before and what a lovely bride Juliet had made, they'd made a point to keep busy trying to retrace their steps. And even _that_ had been like navigating a landmine-strewn path, since those steps had taken them from wedding ceremony to champagne toast and intimate lunch in the resort's most exclusive restaurant, to, well, hell… this morning.

From the corner of his eye he observed how Juliet's hands trembled slightly before she folded them over the DVD case, protectively, it seemed. He wished he could take them in his—that gesture that had become so second nature to them over the last month—so damned necessary this morning, when she'd taken his hand and reassured him when he'd confessed to those unfamiliar feelings of helplessness. However, in here, with these people, there was no reason to keep up the façade.

And like so many other things about this surreal as hell day, it was really _pissing him off_.

"Well, like you said it's a long shot, but right now, it's the only shot we've got." Vick held out her hand into which Juliet slowly placed the DVD. As a group, they headed toward the table where the state police personnel had set up their equipment, Vick handing off the DVD to the resident tech geek.

As they crowded around the computer, Carlton made a point to situate himself directly behind Juliet, his left hand—the one not visible to Vick and Henry—discreetly brushing hers. As the screen opened, she turned it and captured his in a brief clasp, fingers cold and trembling against his.

Thankfully, the geek was less about torture and all about efficiency, scrolling in fast forward mode past anything that didn't seem relevant. Even so, Carlton swallowed hard at the sight of Juliet walking down the aisle, smiling as she approached, holding the same small bouquet of roses he'd discovered her cradling in their room. As for himself, he barely recognized the man waiting at the head of the aisle. Not that it wasn't him—it _was_. Typical dark suit, tie, hair neatly brushed, standing with the proud, just this side of arrogant, military bearing inherited from a long line of men in service and drummed into him by nuns and his academy training—but the expression on his _face_… It took him a long minute to pinpoint exactly what it was. It was happiness. The man waiting for Juliet was _happy_.

And in that moment he realized how goddamned much _happy_ could hurt.

Because that kind of happy couldn't possibly last. Not for him. It never did.

Whatever hopes he might have entertained that only he'd noticed were smashed to hell as Juliet's hand found his again for another brief squeeze, something in her touch prompting him to take another look, swallowing hard as he did. Dear God, if he looked happy, Juliet looked downright radiant. No bride done up in all the frou-frou veil and gown trappings could begin to touch her in her simple pale blue dress, hair pulled back from her face but otherwise falling loose around her shoulders.

Mesmerized, he couldn't take his eyes from the pair on the screen. Like those reflections earlier, they seemed unreal beings, disconnected from their everyday selves and maybe most importantly, like those ethereal reflections—they fit.

With rapid, silent movie-like motions, the pair on the screen faced each other, clearly repeating and responding as directed by the officiant. They slipped the rings onto each others' hands, grinning at each other like the giddy bride and groom the clerk had believed them to be as the officiant, by the power vested in him by the State of California, obviously declared them husband and wife. The man had barely finished speaking before Carlton was lowering his head, pausing for just a moment to say something to Juliet before kissing her.

And kissing her.

And kissing her some more.

And unless he had lost his mind, she was kissing him back just as fervently, her body molded as closely to his as when they'd kissed earlier.

A flush of arousal spread throughout his chest at the flash of memory of her nearly nude body pressed to his, pelvis rocking against his thigh, the velvety weight of her breast fitting his palm so perfectly, even as the back of his neck prickled with uncomfortable awareness. Glancing away from the screen, he found Vick and Henry staring at him and Juliet, eyebrows raised, Vick's mouth even parted slightly in shock and thank God, the tech geek chose that precise moment to say "Hey look, there… _there—_"

Immediately, they all leaned in, focusing on the image which the tech was currently isolating and zooming in on—shadowy figures captured just beyond the chapel's threshold as Carlton and Juliet had turned to walk back up the aisle.

"Give me a little bit, I'll try to zoom in further and clean it up. Maybe we can get IDs from your detectives or if not, we'll start running them through facial recognition."

"Excellent." Karen released a relieved breath as she straightened and turned, bemusement still evident in her gaze as she studied them, although all she said was, "Finally, we're getting somewhere."

"Excuse me."

"Detective?"

Without another word, Juliet extricated herself from the group and quickly headed toward the bathroom, leaving Vick and Henry looking confused and an uneasy frisson of concern snaking down Carlton's spine.

"O'Hara?" Vick started after her but wasn't fast enough to beat Carlton, who tapped on the door as he sent a glance toward the rest of the room's inhabitants, warning them back, even Vick and Henry. Especially Vick and Henry.

"Juliet?"

Carefully, he turned the knob and pushed the door open, worried that she was sick again. Crap, whatever they'd been given seemed to be hitting her far harder than him and would that damned lab rat get back to them with the results already? What if she'd been poisoned? Maybe they needed to take her to a hospital and Jesus, why hadn't he thought of that before? He was an idiot. A class-A, dumbass idiot. It was the first damned thing he should have done once she got sick this morning, but no, he was too damned busy freaking out about waking up naked and married to his partner and frankly, too damned _horny_ to think straight.

He was an _idiot_.

Except she wasn't getting sick. She wasn't doing anything other than sitting on the edge of the tub, staring down at her hands, her thumb playing over the surface of her wedding ring. With a start, he realized he was doing the same thing as he watched her.

Even though he was reasonably sure no one would dare interrupt them, he nevertheless made certain to lock the door before approaching. Perched beside her on the edge of the tub, he did nothing more than stare down at his hands, trying to figure out what to do next. Coming after her—making certain he was the first to get to her and woe be to anyone who tried to get in his way—that'd been adrenaline fueled by pure instinct. Now what?

Fuck it—he knew.

For once, Carlton was with a woman he cared about and he actually _knew_ what to do.

Reaching for Juliet's hand, he took it in his, unable to tell if the sigh of relief that escaped as her fingers tightened around his had come from him or her. Not sure it really mattered.

Giving himself completely over to instinct he bent his head over hers, brushing his lips against her hair. "What is it?"

The words emerged barely above a whisper. "Our first kiss and I don't remember a damned thing about it." A small, warm drop landed on the back of his hand. "And even that might not have been so bad, but to have to see it like _that_. With everyone watching us—"

Her voice cracked and with it, something in Carlton.

"I'm sorry.," he murmured against her hair. "You'll never know how sorry I am, Juliet."

Her head rose, her gaze, a luminous, endless blue, searching his face. "That's twice," she whispered.

"Twice what?"

"Twice today that you've said you're sorry and sounded like you mean it."

He blinked. "That's because I do."

"But you hardly ever do mean it."

True. He might say he was sorry fairly readily, but it was usually delivered in a tone designed to make clear he really wasn't. Generally, he didn't give a damn and sorry only existed as a sarcastic retort or verbal shortcut. A way to keep from wasting valuable time. "This is different."

"Why?" Her brows drew together. "What are you sorry for, Carlton?"

"I..." His throat closed as he fought for the words, finally managing, "About this whole damned mess."

"Really?" Her voice, while soft, held a challenge. "All of it?"

Once again the defenses tried to slide into place, to insist that yes, he was sorry about this whole damned case, that he wished they'd never taken it on, that he wanted more than anything to fix things, to take them back, at the very least, twenty-four hours. That he wished he could have been conscious enough to kick the shit out of whoever it was who'd put them in this position, but before he could open his big, fat mouth and chew on some fine shoe leather, instinct saved his ass again. Choosing that moment to rear its head, spitting and snarling, and shut down those damned defenses.

"No," he heard himself say.

"So what are you sorry for? Really?"

Why instinct had waited nearly forty-three years to kick into high gear, he had no freaking clue. Maybe it's because it had been saving itself up for this moment, this woman.

"I'm sorry I don't remember either." His free hand rose to brush her hair back from her face, his thumb teasing the impossibly soft skin below her ear. "I'm sorry we had to see it like that, in front of everybody and their mother."

She continued looking up at him, the bathroom lights illuminating the subtle hints of green living deep within that searching gaze. "Are you sorry they know?"

Carlton's heart immediately went into overdrive as instinct chose _that_ moment to desert him, the little bastard, leaving him floundering with nothing more than a helpless, "Know what?" terrified of what she might say next.

Terrified that she might _know_.

"That I've fallen in love with you."

Just flat out terrified.


	10. Chapter 10

**Prelude to a Kiss**

Not a bit of **psych **belongs to me, no infringement intended, TPTB got everything, I got nuthin' other than the yarns I spin.

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><p>She hadn't meant to tell him. Not yet.<p>

Especially with it still being so new to her, too. She'd suspected, sure—she would've had to have been blind and stupid not to at least question what had been building between them. Whether it was just this case or whether it was real.

It was real.

Fragile and delicate, sure, but it had nevertheless felt more real than anything she'd ever experienced before. The fact that she could admit that with only the slightest pang of regret with respect to Shawn should have been a huge, _enormous_ clue—and had been. Yet perhaps because of her own fears—of the changes it would mean, the battles she knew she'd have to fight, especially with Carlton and _his_ fears—she still hadn't been absolutely certain until earlier today. Until the moment he'd admitted to feeling lost—that he didn't know what to do, all the while looking to her. Depending on _her_.

It was a confession that went beyond trust—that left this normally closed-off man completely open and exposed and allowed her to see more of him than she ever had before. Right then, she realized that she loved every grumpy, irascible, normally guarded, socially inept, often funny, wounded, and damned sexy bit of him. That she'd be willing to fight for him—for them.

Not that she could have said anything right then. So not the time—not with the case and everything… else that had transpired between them. Telling him right then would have been liable to leave him just this side of catatonic.

No, Juliet had imagined them dealing with it once they got back home. In a rational, steady manner that would make sense to Carlton—taking baby steps and perhaps a two-by-four to convince him of her feelings and that no, they weren't just a byproduct of this case. That the damned case had simply set the inevitable into motion, because if there was anything else she was certain of, besides the fact that she was crazy in love with Carlton Lassiter, was the utter sense of inevitability. God knows, theirs had been a circuitous path, but ever since they'd started this case, it was as if the path had straightened, the final destination becoming more clear and attainable with each day that passed.

She suspected he'd felt it too. For one thing, he'd dealt with the entire bizarre situation so much more calmly than she would have ever imagined, making her believe that somewhere deep within his stubborn, paranoid, couldn't-ever-believe-good-things-could-happen-to-him, terrified man brain, he sensed the sheer _rightness_ of them, too.

But she had _not_ meant to tell him. Not yet.

Then they'd watched that damned video and there it was. All but labeled in blazing Technicolor. Okay, so maybe prior to the ceremony her conscious self hadn't been ready to admit it, but in that kiss they'd shared—hell, in the entire damned ceremony—it had been written all over her. Everyone in that room had seen it, except for maybe Carlton, judging by his current stunned expression, eyes wide and translucent, and clear enough that she could imagine staring all the way into the heart of him.

"Carlton, it was there." She kept her voice soft and gentle, one hand stroking through his hair. Without whatever he used to keep it tamed into its normal, buttoned-down style, it waved far more than she might have expected, unbelievably soft against her skin. "It's true."

"We were drugged." The brilliant blue of his eyes dulled, the curtains being drawn across his innermost thoughts, shielding himself from the disappointment he was so damned certain was lying in wait—anxious to ambush him, because that's simply how things _were_.

"Not enough." She shook her head. "Maybe we were led there, fed the suggestion, but you know as well as I do, especially after seeing that video, that _everything_ we did, Carlton—" A sudden flare of intense heat and awareness lit his eyes at her words, sparking an answering coil of arousal within her. "_Everything_ we did," she repeated, feeling the slight shiver that went through him at the lowered, throaty tone to her voice, "we did of our own free will." She put both hands on either side of his face. "Carlton, listen to me—"

But before Juliet could tell him it wasn't his imagination or hers, for that matter—that she honest-to-God _loved him_—a sharp rap sounded against the door followed by a curt, "Detectives—"

"Son of a _bitch_—"

Oddly enough, her emphatic and extremely heartfelt curse brought a ghost of a smile to his face, seemed to relax the tension that had been holding him hostage. Rising, he extended a hand to help her stand, but when he would have let go, she hung on, rising on tiptoe to press a gentle kiss to his cheek.

"I mean it, Carlton—we're not done. Not by a long damned shot, okay?"

She tightened her hold on his hand, suppressing a sigh as she read the clear confusion wreathing his features in worried lines. He still didn't get it. Was so damned afraid to believe. But he at least gave her hand a squeeze, made it a point to keep it in his as they made their way to the door, only letting go as he opened it to reveal Chief Vick on the other side.

"O'Hara, are you all right?"

"I'm okay, Chief—just still feeling mildly queasy from time to time." Juliet met Henry's thoughtful gaze directly as she stepped into the main room. The faint lift of his eyebrows and slight smile made it clear he knew she was lying through her teeth, yet there wasn't the faintest hint of censure in his expression.

Of all the people to get it…

"Not a surprise you're still feeling it with what you guys were hit with."

Juliet turned her head toward the speaker—Rob, the Friendly State Police Tech who had apparently made his return while she and Carlton were in the bathroom.

"Well, you waiting for Lent to tell us?" Carlton snarled, prompting Juliet to put her hand to his back without thinking. Even after she realized what she'd done, she kept it there. Not as if it wasn't an open secret now—at least, how _she_ felt. His back rose beneath her hand in a deep breath before he asked in a more reasonable tone, "Do we need to take her to the hospital?"

Rob shook his head. "All of your tests indicate the worst of it is over and that everything's working its way out of your systems naturally. I'll tell you this though—whoever dosed you, knew what they were doing."

"How so?" Vick asked.

Rob led them back over the table set up as the central command, picking up a folder that he handed to Vick. "Your people were initially dosed with flunitrazepam, AKA Rohypnol which would account for both the amnesia and the nausea."

A feeling of dread crept over Juliet. Rohypnol. Blast it. Sneaking a sidelong glance at Carlton, her heart sank as she took in how absolutely devastated he looked, his eyes wide, much of the blue leeched from them and leaving them a stark gray, matching the pallor of his skin. Dammit—this would be like the worst kind of torture for him, knowing they'd been dosed with a known date rape drug.

All of a sudden, their path was taking a hairpin turn leaving her hanging on for dear life, trying to keep the wheels anchored without flying off into the abyss.

"You said initially," Henry said darting a concerned glance in Carlton's direction before returning his attention to Rob. "Does that mean there was something else?"

Rob nodded. "Yeah, and this is what made me say whoever got your detectives knew what they were doing. We found the presence of flumazenil in their systems, which is a benzodiazepine receptor antagonist. Essentially counters the effects of flunitrazepam and is only administered by injection."

Juliet's heart beat a little faster. "When you say 'counters the effects'—"

"I mean it sobers you up. In a hurry." Rob smiled. "There's no way to precisely know for certain, but if I had to wager a guess, you guys were given at least a couple doses of flunitrazepam to keep you compliant and then when it was necessary to sober you up, they injected you with the flumazenil. It can take multiple doses over the course of several minutes, which would account for the multiple injection sites in your arms—with Detective Lassiter requiring an extra shot because of his size difference from you."

"If that's the case then why the hell can't we remember anything after that?" Carlton asked, his voice tight, the tension practically vibrating from him.

"Come on, Detective," Rob replied soothingly. "Pop quiz time—what do you remember about Rohypnol from your narcotics training?"

"It has a half-life of more than twenty-four hours." Juliet and Carlton turned as one to Henry who'd answered. "So even if you were sober and in full control of your faculties, you'd still be feeling the effects of the drug well into the next day." He kept his gaze fixed on Carlton as he quietly added, " Including the anterograde amnesia."

"The loss of the ability to create new memories," Carlton recited as his head slowly turned and his gaze fixed itself on Juliet. And in the deepening blue of his eyes she saw that fearful hairpin turn easing off if not into a straight path, then at least something that was a hell of a lot more manageable.

"Chief Vick—"

Dammit, dammit, _dammit_. Would people quit interrupting already? But the cop that existed as deeply within her as it did within Carlton nudged her sharply, making her wince with guilt. She and Carlton had just been given the gift of time. For the moment, the case had to take precedence. She turned her attention to the tech who'd approached, holding her and Carlton's regular phones.

"Your people did good, getting those pre-paid phones," the tech said, handing them to Carlton, who handed Juliet hers. "We discovered cloning and tracking software embedded in both of their phones. Sir," she said, directing her attention to Carlton with a smile that made Juliet take a half-step closer to him. The tech's smile faded into a cautious expression as she hastily finished, "There's a message on yours that's not from your boss."

"You left messages?" Carlton asked with a raised eyebrow stare at Vick who sighed and crossed her arms.

"Like you'd expect me not to be worried about my people when they go AWOL?" she retorted acerbically to which Carlton responded with a faint smile.

He was joking. It might only be for a moment—it might only be to relieve the unrelenting tension of the last few minutes, but he had relaxed enough to crack what for him, amounted to a joke. Juliet thought she might cry from the relief. She settled for taking yet another half step closer, her hip brushing his.

"She did leave messages on your partner's phone, too," the young tech supplied helpfully, although her cautious expression deepened on the word "partner" and she took a nervous step away.

Good.

Carlton quickly pulled up his voice mail menu and after locating the mystery message, put the phone on speaker.

_"Hello, honeymooners! We do hope you're having a wonderful time and enjoying your first days as newlyweds. It was such a pleasure to arrange the ceremony for such a devoted couple and for such a good reason. As promised, we're touching base about your promised baby. Born early this morning—a beautiful ten-pound boy with a full head of dark hair. Perfectly healthy and cleared for release tomorrow morning, which will allow us to bring him to you at the resort as planned. By tomorrow afternoon, you'll be parents. Hope you have a name picked out!"_

As the message clicked off, Juliet turned to Carlton. "I know that voice."

"I do, too," he said, his brows drawing together. "The agency director…"

"Margaret Santangelo," Juliet finished, flashing him a triumphant grin that he returned, his hand lifting as if to reach for her before Vick's discreet cough reminded them they weren't alone. Even so, his smile didn't fade as he closed his fist in invitation. As she gently touched hers to his, she felt better than she had all day.

"You're sure about this?" the chief asked as she nodded toward the computer tech, who began typing furiously.

Juliet nodded, the memories beginning to filter back in, not as clear as they might ordinarily have been, but she was still dead certain about what she could recall. "We were told she prefers to work from her home office, so we only met her for the first time at the mixer—_before_ we were dosed."

"Seemed to take a particular interest in us," Carlton added. "Lot of time asking about our experiences on the force—a _lot_ of questions about whether Juliet would really be happy giving up such an exciting career to become a full-time wife and mother."

"Damn them," Vick muttered as she shook her head in disgust. "The information that they're planning on delivering the baby to you here tomorrow afternoon should give us enough to start a rough geographical profile. We'll alert hospitals within the area and put a BOLO out on this Santangelo woman—"

"Karen, slow down."

Vick's head snapped around. "What, Henry?"

"Take a step back and look at the bigger picture." He stepped forward, eyes narrowed. "There's no guarantee they're actually taking a newborn from a hospital—they're only _saying_ they are. For all we know, they already have the baby—maybe it's a week or two old. Think about it—a ten-pound newborn isn't as common as a ten pound two-week old."

"Go on," Vick said while Juliet quietly shifted to stand in front of Carlton, breathing easier with his warmth against her back and the subtle brush of his hand against hers.

"These people are smart—they've evaded detection for God knows how long. We send cops to start buzzing around the hospitals and clinics, they'll pick up on it and they will disappear."

"So what are you suggesting, Henry?" Juliet asked.

"He's saying we let this play out," Carlton answered steadily. "Let them come to us tomorrow with the baby and we catch them red-handed. Right?"

Henry nodded with a glint of what Juliet was surprised to recognize as pride in his eyes. Henry wasn't one for excessive praise—far more likely to point out the fly in the ointment. Praise from him was rare enough that Shawn tended to flippantly dismiss it for that very reason. Like he didn't want to give Henry the satisfaction of knowing he gave a damn. By contrast, Carlton stood a little straighter, nodding slightly in acknowledgment which resulted in bringing a slight smile to Henry's face.

"Did you figure out the rest of it?"

Rest of it? Juliet took in Carlton's grim half-smile. "Yeah. They obviously made us. I'm guessing they told us that in a stunning stroke of good fortune they found us the perfect baby. Of course, as per their agency requirements, we'd have to be married for the adoption to go through, so they called our bluff and brought us here. It's remote enough after all."

"Oh, God." A chill ran through Juliet as she rapidly pieced together the rest of it. "If we'd resisted getting married, they would've just gotten rid of us and disappeared. Free to start over somewhere else." Juliet shivered as she realized what a close call they'd had—a moment later, she felt the weight of Carlton's hand on her shoulder, warm and reassuring.

"That's it, in a nutshell," Henry said. "Admittedly, the drugs did make you compliant, but only up to a certain point, especially after they sobered you up." He shrugged as he added in his typically direct manner, "Gotta say, either the two of you are the most dedicated pair of detectives I've ever seen in my entire life, or you really wanted to get married."


	11. Chapter 11

**Prelude to a Kiss**

I own nothing of **psych,** none of it belongs to me, no infringement intended, TPTB got everything, I got nuthin'.

A little short interlude of a chapter. Loafer, they get alone time in the next chapter, I promise!

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><p>"So you're Carlton's bride. Juliet, yes?"<p>

Juliet turned to find a lovely older woman standing on the threshold between the boutique's main space and what appeared to be a storage room.

"Yes," she replied, feeling a slight blush at the term _bride_. So he hadn't felt the need to hide who she was. Another tiny victory and right now, she'd take all the victories she could get.

"Your turn to augment the wardrobes?"

She smiled. "Yeah, guess it is." Part of her had hoped Carlton would come with her, but he'd wanted to stay behind and finalize plans with Vick and Henry for tomorrow's operation. Code for he needed some breathing room, his gaze had pleaded with her silently, and while it stung a little, in the long run it was a good thing. If she was honest with herself, she was relieved at having a little space, too. Everything today had been just _so _ intense and overwhelming, culminating with that video. She was still feeling more than a little tender and exposed post-_Let's Have All My Feelings Revealed In Front of a Room Full of Mostly Strangers and Oh, Yeah, My Boss and My Ex-But-Doesn't-Know-It-Yet-Boyfriend's Father_.

Yeah, all things considered, this wasn't such a bad errand, really. There was something so incredibly… intimate about the task of picking out clothes for him to wear. Juliet couldn't help but wonder if he'd felt the same or if for him it had just been a chore. They _were_ talking about a man who'd once prided himself on getting two wearings out of a suit in a work week, including the same tie. Admittedly, he'd come a long way since then, however, the typical vast sea of women's clothing was just the sort of thing that was liable to freak him right out. Clearly, this nice lady had helped him.

"What he chose for you looks every bit as lovely as he said it would."

Or not.

"He really picked all of this out?"

"Oh, I helped him narrow things down, but he was _very_ clear about what he wanted." The woman approached, an assessing stare narrowing her pale blue eyes as she took in the tall black boots, the slacks, and of course, the beautiful sweater Juliet wore over the lavender turtleneck.

"He was?"

"Very much so." The woman—Elizabeth, Juliet noted—regarded her kindly. "It should be feminine but not fussy, elegant, but practical, and above all, pretty."

"Um, wow." Juliet stood still for a moment, absorbing. If what Elizabeth had just said was in any way true, then Carlton had pretty accurately described her tastes. Which meant on some level, he noticed things about her. The little things that added up to the big things. That became everything. Then again, why should this information come as such a surprise? He had noticed the scent of her hair all those years ago, even if he'd tried to cover it up with some babbling about shopping lists.

"Indeed." Elizabeth smiled. "Overall, he was rather effusive about you—"

"Wait a minute—Carlton? Effusive? About _me_?" Juliet was stunned. "We are talking about the same man, right? Tall, salt-and-pepper hair, amazing blue eyes? Probably looked more than a little freaked out?"

"That would be him, yes." Elizabeth tilted her head. "And yes, he did seem a bit freaked out, as you said, at finding himself actually married if you don't mind my saying so."

"I don't mind. It…" She hesitated and shrugged. "It was an unexpected decision for both of us." The nice way of stating it, she supposed.

"And why is that? It's patently obvious you both care very much for each other." Elizabeth's expression as she spoke was kind rather than prying. There was also a pretty healthy dose of shrewdness contained within those sharp blue eyes, making it clear she knew what she was about.

Juliet turned away from that knowing gaze, pretending interest in a truly hideous crocheted chartreuse sweater that didn't seem to have enough stitches in it to justify actually calling it an article of clothing. "Because we work together in an environment where relationships between coworkers are discouraged." And in the spirit of finding it way easier to unload to someone she wasn't ever likely to see again, she found herself adding, "And because he was married before and it… ended badly."

And there in a nutshell lay one of her biggest fears. That the damage from his first marriage was so deep-seated, he'd find it impossible to ever believe she could love him. That she'd want to stay married to him. Although she wasn't ready to share _that_ little tidbit with him just yet. Baby steps, she reminded herself. First, he had to believe she truly wanted to be around him—starting with all the time, and… well, naked would be nice, too.

"Ah." Elizabeth's voice held a note of understanding. "Keeps himself well-protected, does he?"

"You have _no_ idea."

Really, this sweater… _thing_ was beyond hideous. Who would wear this excuse for chartreuse fisherman's netting at a winter ski resort anyhow? And for five hundred bucks? But someone would buy it. She'd seen worse in both Santa Barbara and Miami. She smiled faintly as she practically heard Carlton's biting "_Idiots,_" in her mind. Such a reassuring sound, that contemptuous snarl.

"But you think he's well worth the effort."

Juliet glanced down at her ring. "You have no idea," she said again, almost to herself.

After a beat of silence Elizabeth gently asked, "You aren't really interested in that thing, are you?"

Startled, Juliet turned to find Elizabeth staring critically at the chartreuse fishnet sweater, as if she couldn't believe she had to stock the thing. "God, _no._"

"Good girl." She steered Juliet away from the fishnet horror. "Carlton did say you were very smart."

Her eyes widened. "He did?"

"He did." Elizabeth looked as if she was fighting back a smile. "First thing he said about you as a matter of fact."

"Really?"

"Really."

And all of a sudden she just wanted to leave—right now. She wanted to find him and just… hold him.

Forever.

Elizabeth laughed gently. "Oh my, what I wouldn't give to see the two of you together. You _must_ stop by at the same time before you leave." Thankfully, she didn't seem to require any sort of a response as she continued, "Now, let's see about picking out some things for you and that lovely husband of yours." She slowed down as they passed a display of elegant lingerie and winked. "Perhaps even something… special to help him freak out in an entirely different manner?"

Even as she felt the heat of a blush spreading across her chest and up her neck, Juliet couldn't help but grin. "Oh, Elizabeth, I like the way you think."


	12. Chapter 12

**Prelude to a Kiss**

I own nothing of **psych,** none of itbelongs to me, no infringement intended, TPTB got everything, I got nuthin'.

Well, they got the alone time I promised Loafer, but not quite how I expected (which is also Loafer's doing). Hope you like.

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><p>He was so fucking tired of being a coward.<p>

He'd entertained variations on a theme of the same thought since the moment the door had closed behind Juliet, leaving him with Vick and Henry and the assorted state police personnel, all of whom did nothing but stare as the door shut with a click that seemed to echo in the silent room. The state police people he could give less of a shit about, but Vick and Henry were a different matter. They knew him and they knew Juliet and they knew everything.

Well, not _everything_, thank God, but it was clear, especially in the glances he was on the receiving end of from many of the state police guys—glances ranging from disbelieving, _how in the hell did that middle-aged asshat score with that hot piece_ to the openly envious stares—that there were assumptions aplenty. Not that he could blame them, necessarily—had he been an independent observer of that kiss he would've been making the same assumptions because holy crap, that _kiss_.

Vick had looked troubled, but to her credit, seemed to realize that whatever had happened between Carlton and Juliet wasn't of paramount importance to the immediate matter at hand, which was catching these baby-robbing bastards. It was only after the plans had been finalized and he was preparing to leave that she ventured to say something, but got no further than, "Carlton—"

"Karen, stop." Holding up his hand, he took a deep breath and met her gaze directly. "Leaving aside the marriage thing—" And once again a wave of cowardice overwhelmed him—he _didn't_ want to leave aside the marriage thing, dammit.

"We've been spending nights together for the good of this fucking case for close to a month, so I don't know why the hell tonight should be any different. For the moment, Juliet is still my partner, we've still got the endgame to play in this case, and there is no way in hell I'm leaving her alone tonight. So with all due respect, I'm going to ask you to not say a damned word."

To his surprise, Henry stepped in, quietly adding, "He's right, Karen. Let it go."

Karen, after exchanging a long look with Henry, looked back to him and slowly nodded. There would be hell to pay once they got back to Santa Barbara, Carlton knew, but for now, he had tonight. He had an intimate dinner in their suite, and Juliet seated across from him, quiet in a way that should have bothered him, given her natural effervescence, but oddly, didn't. It had been a hard day for her, too—harder for her than him, really, because she'd actually had the guts to speak her heart and he hadn't been able to say a damned word in return.

_Coward_.

Or maybe he'd just kept quiet because there was no goddamned way it was true—no matter what she said. Of course, they got along great as partners and they were friends—best friends, really—and both of those things had translated to their working so damned well together undercover. They had, if he said so himself, sold the hell out of it. But love him? Enough to marry him? That simply wasn't possible. Regardless of what that lab rat had said about their being sober, _something_ still had to have been in their systems—

"Carlton, please stop thinking so hard."

He glanced up from barely touched chicken Marsala to find Juliet studying him quietly, her plate as untouched as his.

"The lab rat—"

"Rob," she admonished gently, making him fidget uncomfortably.

"Rob," he corrected with a lift of his eyebrow that said he was only doing it for her, "said that eating would help you feel better faster." Better to avoid her comment and redirect, even if it meant another notch in the "coward" column.

"No, what would make me feel better is for you to talk to me."

"And what's that going to accomplish?" He drained his glass of red in one long swallow, and filled it once more. Probably not great to drink after what their systems had been through in the last forty-eight hours, but hey, at least it wasn't whisky, right?

He waited for Juliet to scold him—maybe he could even make a joke about wifely nagging, except he couldn't—_wouldn't_—ever joke about Juliet being his wife.

All of a sudden, she was out of her chair and crouched beside his, gazing up at him with those eyes that saw every damned thing he tried to hide. "Why is it so hard for you to believe?"

Oh, he had a thousand different answers. A thousand different ways to redirect the conversation. Or his old trusted friend—shutting down and not saying a damned word.

Except where had that gotten him in the past?

Angry, bitter, and alone, that's where. The butt of a thousand different jokes. Lonely and envious and wanting nothing more than the woman beside him. Who was steadily gazing up at him and saying she wanted him, too.

"It's hard for me to believe because it's _me_," he admitted quietly, staring at the play of candlelight across the ruby surface of his wine. "And it's you." He swallowed hard. "This was never supposed to happen."

"I disagree." She reached out and carefully took the wineglass from his hand, setting it on the table. Taking his hand in both of hers, she rubbed his wedding band with her thumbs. "I think this was always going to happen. The case maybe made it happen sooner, but I think you and I were inevitable."

"If it was so inevitable, then why the hell were you with Spencer?" he ground out, hating himself for even bringing it up, but he was only human. He'd hated her being with Spencer, not just because it _was_ Spencer, he realized, but because it wasn't him. He could admit that now.

But no one could say Juliet wasn't made of stern stuff. Rather than get hurt or upset or retreat because he'd brought up the man who, technically, was still her boyfriend, she calmly replied, "Because that was inevitable, too. It had to happen, if only so I could move forward with no questions or doubts or regrets. Thing is, Carlton—"

Rising, she eased into his lap, her arms winding around his neck as her forehead came to rest against his. As his arms automatically circled her waist she quietly said, "Whenever I envisioned different scenarios for my future, I realized it was incredibly easy to envision a future without Shawn."

His breath caught as her lips brushed against his in the lightest, sweetest kiss he'd ever experienced—almost innocent, really, except there wasn't a damned innocent thing about what he was currently feeling.

"But no matter how many different scenarios I envisioned," she whispered, her breath a warm caress against his cheek, "I couldn't ever conceive of one that you weren't part of. And if I tried, it felt wrong. Like a piece of me was missing."

Her lips brushed his once again. "I love _you_. Carlton. All of you."

He sighed, whether in defeat, in acceptance, he wasn't sure. He just wasn't goddamned sure. The only thing of which he was absolutely certain was that he loved Juliet, but he couldn't say that to her—not yet. He was still too damned terrified. Of what would happen once they were back home, once they returned to their real lives, their jobs and Spencer, because no matter how Juliet might feel, Carlton didn't think the other man would give up without a fight. He sure as hell wouldn't. And Spencer was, well... Spencer. Everything Carlton wasn't.

But for right now—right _now_—Juliet was his wife, she was in his arms, she _said_ she loved him, and she wanted him.

She wanted _him_.

Dammit, he was only human. For once, he wanted to believe all of this was really his and for once, it _could_ be.

If he would only stop being such a fucking coward.

With another sigh, he shifted his hands from her waist to her shoulders, easing her back and looking into her face, studying the flushed features he loved more than any other. "Once we get back to Santa Barbara, I'm going to need time."

"Okay." Biting her lip, she nodded. ""Okay. I'll give you all the time you need." A shadow that almost looked like fear momentarily dulled her eyes. "As long as you give me tonight."

Tenderly, he smoothed her hair back from her face, captured the single tear that clung to her lashes. "Tonight, I'm all yours, Juliet—" He paused, then softly added, "Lassiter."


	13. Chapter 13

**Prelude to a Kiss**

I own nothing of **psych,** none of itbelongs to me, no infringement intended, TPTB got everything, I got nuthin'.

Sorry about the delay on this chapter. I wanted to get it _just_ right. Hopefully, I did.

* * *

><p>At the sound of the door opening behind him, Carlton turned, catching his breath as he took in Juliet's silhouetted form, backlit by the bright light from the bathroom. Then, as she clicked the light off, he stopped breathing altogether. While he hadn't bothered turning any lights on in the bedroom, the cool light of the full moon reflecting off the snowy slopes streamed in through the big windows and paired with the warm glow from the fire to provide more than enough light.<p>

Step, by slow, agonizing step, she closed the distance between them until she finally stood before him, a beautiful combination of sultry, shy, and above all, loving. He knew she loved him. He had no goddamned clue what would happen once they were back in Santa Barbara, but right now—in this place and at this moment—he was absolutely certain she loved him and it was the only thing giving him the courage to go through with his promise to give her tonight.

"You're beautiful."

"Thank you," she said softly, her breath ghosting against his throat as she tilted her head to meet his gaze.

"I don't think, though, we should put this on the requisition form."

He trailed one finger down the thin shoulder strap to where it met the intricate lace bodice, heat coiling low in his belly at the feel of her skin beneath his. She was just so damned gorgeous in the long silky nightgown, appropriately demure and bridal until you took into consideration the sultry deep pink color and the dark brown lace that revealed tantalizing glimpses of pale skin beneath. Traditional, with a twist—just as she'd wanted.

With a mental snarl, he fought back the automatic thought that he, however, was probably not the man she'd envisioned.

A slight smile curved her mouth. "You're probably right. I can't imagine the department looking too favorably on a hefty charge for Italian silk and French lace when a cotton t-shirt would've been more than acceptable and a hell of a lot cheaper." She blinked, looking deceptively innocent as she added, "Especially when I'm not expecting to keep it on all that long."

"Not intending to sleep in this, then?" He lifted an eyebrow, half-amazed he was able to joke with the way his heart was racing and every instinct was demanding he take Juliet, throw her on the bed, and make love to her. Thoroughly and as often as his body would allow him to.

"Not intending to sleep much at all."

His heart stuttered and honest-to-God, stopped for a brief moment before swooping around his chest cavity and bouncing against his rib cage for good measure. And forget breathing—that was a lost cause—especially as Juliet closed the final half-step remaining between them, her soft curves fitting seamlessly to his body as her arms went up around his neck, prompting his hands to find a natural resting place on the inviting curve of her hips.

Keeping her head back in order to meet his gaze she softly asked, "Before last night, had you ever given anything like this a thought?" One hand lowered briefly to his mouth, stilling his response as she added, "Truth, this time." Her arm slid back up around his neck as she gazed at him expectantly.

"Yes." Truth. He might not be able to tell her everything he felt, but what he _could_ say, would be absolute truth. "More than you'll ever know."

"I wish you'd said something."

"How could I?" One hand rose to trace the outlines of her face, his thumb lightly rubbing the sensuous curve of her lower lip, shuddering slightly as she opened her mouth and bit lightly at the pad. "This sort of thing is so damned hard for me under the best of circumstances."

"But it doesn't have to be," she replied, her breath a warm, damp caress against his skin. Turning her head, she nuzzled her cheek against his palm. "We've both been wanting to do this all day. We've already done it." With a slight change of angle, her lips pressed against his wrist, right where his pulse skittered erratically at what she was doing to him. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard as her voice vibrated against his skin and straight up his arm before arrowing towards points south.

"And from what little I can recall, not to mention, how damned _good_ I felt this morning, we did it very, very well."

Her arms slid down until her hands rested on his chest undoing each button on his shirt with devastating slowness. Leaning forward, she kissed the hollow of his throat as she spread his shirt open, the rush of cool air making him shiver. Pulling it free from the waistband of his slacks she murmured, "Our bodies already know what to do, Carlton—you know they do. Just—"

Her tongue tracing the clavicle he'd broken so long ago.

"Let—"

And dear _God_, her teeth, scraping lightly against his nipple.

"It—"

Her nails dragging a slow, heated trail from ribs to abdomen, pausing at his belt. Leather whispered against fabric followed by the subtle rasp of a zipper and then his pants were pooled down around his ankles as she rose to meet his already lowering mouth.

"Happen."

Grasping her arms, he steered her toward the bed, kicking his pants off along the way, his mouth exploring hers the way it had earlier and beyond. Tasting sweet/sharp bite of cinnamon, his heart constricting.

"You taste good," he murmured as they fell to the bed.

"Hope you don't mind that I used your toothpaste," she breathlessly replied between kisses, her thumbs stroking his jaw as her fingers scratched lightly at his scalp. "I didn't want an inadvertent allergic reaction to my mint toothpaste to cut our night short."

"So damned smart." He rose on an elbow and looked at her lying beneath him, a flush spreading from the shadow between her breasts all the way up to her hairline and giving her a glow that to him, put the moonlight illuminating their room to shame. "So damned beautiful."

"So damned yours." She gazed steadily at him, her blue eyes dark and the expression in them soft and maybe just the slightly bit shimmery with moisture. She trailed a finger along his jaw, down his throat and to his chest, opening her hand over where his heart beat.

"Carlton?"

"Yeah?"

"Give me a night I'll remember."

God.

How did she _do_ that?

That sort of directive might ordinarily have sent him into a panic, buckling under the pressure and desire to be perfect. Especially for her. Instead, he felt the same sort of heat and confidence thrum through his veins as when they were about to take down a perp. Secure in the knowledge that Juliet was beside him—his partner who'd be there, no matter what. Who could anticipate his needs without his having to say a word and whose every move complemented his.

"Remember, our bodies know," she whispered in his ear, her hands sliding beneath the waistband of his boxers and shoving them down his legs. "They _know_."

They did. He continued kissing her, slow and leisurely now, like they had all the time in the world as his hands explored her body. First over the silk that clung to her like a second skin, his hands molding to her curves, feeling her nipples harden against the lace, then as her whimpers grew more urgent, slowly dragging the thin straps off her shoulders and down her arms, his mouth exploring every bit of skin exposed, sighing as he tasted her fully, the deepest, most primal recesses of his brain remembering—

They _had_ been good at this.

With another sigh he gave himself completely over to instinct, one palm firm over her abdomen, feeling the tensing and shuddering release of her muscles as she bucked up against him again and again, her calves restlessly rubbing his side until the friction drove him to make his way back up her body, licking away the sweat trailing down her torso, adding that to the myriad of tastes that was Juliet. He paused once more at her breasts, spending time on each one as her hands explored his body, long caresses down his back, shorter, lighter ones along his flanks, slow, maddening circles in the shallow hollows alongside his hipbones. It was only when his teeth sank into one soft curve that she finally conceded with a gasp, her hands caressing and stroking until he couldn't wait any longer and judging by the way her nails dug into his shoulders and the way she groaned his name, she couldn't either.

And it didn't matter if they'd done this before and their bodies remembered. As his body slowly sank into Juliet's and she arched up against him, nails dragging a slow line of fire down his back, Carlton _knew_—every time with this woman would feel new. There would be no getting used to it or taking it for granted. Their bodies might grow familiar over time, but this—

It would _always_ feel like a first time.


	14. Chapter 14

**Prelude to a Kiss**

I own nothing of **psych,** none of itbelongs to me, no infringement intended, TPTB got everything, I got nuthin'.

Apologies for the brevity of this chapter—it's but a short interlude that would _not_ leave my head but neither did it fit with the next full chapter. Longer update forthcoming.

* * *

><p>Watching him sleep would always be a gift.<p>

She was just so accustomed to seeing Carlton in tightly-wound, Detective Lassiter mode, and even if the past month had shown her some of the more relaxed aspects of his character, they had still been underscored with a current of watchful tension. Not surprising, given their undercover status.

But it was in sleep that he fully relaxed and as such, revealed himself. That had led her to begin perceiving him differently during waking hours. She'd learned so much during all those nights spent together. Discovered how in sleep, Carlton sought physical closeness in a manner he never would allow himself while awake, the way in which his body molded to hers suggesting a deeply-suppressed desire for comfort as well as a heartbreaking vulnerability that would prompt her to hold him closer still.

Then there would be that magical moment as he slowly drifted awake, the sleep clearing from his eyes, but not enough consciousness yet creeping in to render them their normal sharp blue. Half-lidded and muted, they'd study her as he blinked slowly and then he'd _smile_. And it was a smile unlike any other she ever saw him give during waking hours.

That smile—it was _hers_ and she'd be damned if she'd give it up.

"Last night—when I said this sort of thing is difficult for me under the best of circumstances?"

"Yeah."

"You know it wasn't about the physical."

"I know. It just seemed easier to focus on that right then." She caressed his cheek, his fair skin warm and flushed with sleep and heavily shadowed with morning beard.

His brows drew together, but with only a fraction of their normal intensity. "Why would you let me off the hook like that?"

"Because I promised you time."

For long moments they lay there, gazing at each other until with a sigh, he lowered his head and buried his face in the crook of her neck.

Holding him close, she stroked the length of his back as she gently rubbed her cheek against the unruly salt-and-pepper mass of his hair. "I love you," she said quietly, knowing it would be the last chance she'd have to say it.

Maybe for a long time.

Maybe forever.


	15. Chapter 15

**Prelude to a Kiss**

I own nothing of **psych,** none of itbelongs to me, no infringement intended, TPTB got everything, I got nuthin'.

* * *

><p>"You look tired."<p>

Juliet regarded her boss silently as the state police tech finished affixing the wire she'd be wearing for the sting—a backup precaution, since they'd also placed cameras and mics throughout the suite as well.

Vick's mouth pressed into a thin line as the tech gave Juliet final instructions and left the suite.

"It was meant merely as observation, not accusation, Juliet."

Even Vick's rare use of her given name wasn't enough to make Juliet relax. Nevertheless, there was no good reason to continue giving her boss the cold shoulder. It wasn't her fault that Carlton was being a terrified, bull-headed… _man_.

"It's been a long couple of days," she finally said as she poured herself another cup of coffee from the service on the table. As she returned the carafe to the tray, her fingers not-so-accidentally glanced against Carlton's empty cup. They'd had a remarkably quiet, normal morning—normal, that is, had they actually been Carlton and Juliet Lassiter: newlyweds. Leisurely making love before sharing a long shower—an interlude that had been more about simple physical affection—about wanting to be together as much as possible while they _could_—than about making love again. Not that she would have said no, but she was just as happy to have him hold her beneath the warm fall of water, especially since it managed to camouflage the few tears she couldn't keep from escaping.

It was during breakfast that the call had come from Margaret Santangelo—they would be on their way shortly and barring traffic, expected to be at the resort by early afternoon. Carlton had replaced the phone on the table with a steady hand before automatically reaching for hers.

Holding on tight, she quietly said, "This is it, huh?"

He nodded. They both knew she didn't mean the sting.

Even so, they'd waited a while to inform Vick—silently lying together on the sofa and watching the world go by outside the wide windows. Finally, he'd kissed her—a soft, gentle kiss of a kind that once upon a time she would have _never_ believed Carlton capable.

She knew better now.

He'd called Vick, the wheels had been set in motion, and well, here they were. At least, her and Vick. Carlton was down in the other hotel room, ostensibly going over the plan one more time with Henry.

She knew better about that, too.

"It's been a long month," Vick finally replied, her sharp gaze studying Juliet.

Juliet shrugged and took a sip of her coffee, catching the gleam of her ring from the corner of her eye. "Not really."

Vick sighed as she poured a cup of coffee for herself. "Jesus, O'Hara."

"Is what it is, Chief."

Vick nodded thoughtfully as she stirred her coffee. "How's Carlton coping?" she asked, staring down at the swirling khaki-colored liquid.

Juliet considered how to answer this. On the one hand, it was her and Carlton's business, on the other hand, it wasn't as if it was a secret any longer, at least how she felt, and their boss did have a vested interest in the potential outcome. Besides, Karen Vick was nothing if not discreet. Juliet knew she could trust her boss.

Still, her instinct to protect Carlton superseded her trust in Vick.

"Off the record?"

Vick's unhesitating nod was enough for Juliet. "Outwardly, he's coping well with the overall situation—far better than anyone would've imagined."

"But—" Vick prompted.

Juliet turned to stare out the window. "But he's having a hard time with the reality."

Vick was silent, ostensibly processing Juliet's statement. "Given his past, are you that surprised?" Her tone was typically direct, yet surprisingly gentle.

"Not really, I guess." She shrugged and took another sip of coffee. "I suppose I'd hoped that six years as partners and friends might help to alleviate any doubts, but I think he's worried that this is all a product of circumstance."

"It's not unreasonable to think that and Detective Lassiter is nothing if not pragmatic. At least, that's what he'll tell himself." Joining Juliet at the window, Vick stared out over the stunning winter landscape.

"And that's what I'm worried about." Juliet rubbed her forehead wearily.

Beside her, Chief Vick took a deep breath, alerting Juliet that she wasn't likely to enjoy what she was about to hear. "In the interests of fair warning, you're both going to have to undergo psych evals when we return home. Protocol for coming out from an undercover mission, especially one where trauma's involved."

Juliet laughed. "Trauma? Is that what they're going to call it?" And _God_, how she hated the idea that her life and her emotions would be put under the microscope of some officious hack who'd question her feelings and desires and choices.

"I have no choice, O'Hara. And really, it might be for the best. For both of you."

Maybe.

Or not.

At that moment, Juliet's phone—the pre-paid one Carlton had bought—buzzed three times then went silent. She glanced at Vick with a raised eyebrow.

"I guess we'll find out soon enough, won't we?"

* * *

><p>In the end, it was almost a letdown. Margaret Santangelo, Ms. Nesbitt, the sharklike counselor from their initial meeting at the agency, and a suspiciously burly "nurse" had arrived at the suite, bearing a carrier with a baby that, Juliet had to admit, looked startlingly like Carlton, from the dark head of hair to the slightly oversized ears to the bright blue eyes she only got a glimpse of before he'd squeezed them shut and let loose with an aggravated howl that, you know, kind of also reminded her of Carlton.<p>

Since she had more practical experience with babies, having helped out with her nephews over the years, she went into maternal mode, as planned, picking up the baby and cooing and soothing him, while Carlton embraced her, a wistful expression briefly flashing in his eyes as he brushed a brief kiss against her mouth. As he lifted his head, the wistfulness replaced by a steel-blue determination, she nodded, he turned, keeping her and the baby safely shielded behind his body and drew the borrowed Glock from where it had been hidden beneath his sweater in a holster at the small of his back.

Ten seconds and three stunned expressions later, the kidnappers were surrounded by a team of the State Police's finest and the case was over.

Oh, it took time to wrap things up of course, and one of the moments of that time that Juliet would most cherish was the memory of Carlton holding three week-old baby Michael, as they'd learned from the cops who'd discovered his identity via an Amber Alert, and rocking him as he stood by the window.

"He did that with Iris, too—right after she was born."

Juliet glanced over at Vick.

"I'd forgotten he was there with you."

Vick nodded. "I can honestly say that initially, he would've been the _last_ person I wanted there with me, but in the end, I'm not sure how I would've gotten through it without him."

Juliet considered that statement for a moment. Given how fractious Carlton's relationship had been with Vick at that time, that was a hell of thing to be saying. A testament of sorts. "How was he?"

Her boss grinned, the memory clearly a good one. "About how you'd expect—panicked, inappropriate, idiotic, but when it counted, stepped up and came through." After a shared laugh, Vick added with another thoughtful glance, "You know, he said then that one of the problems in his marriage was that his wife thought he didn't want kids."

Once again, Juliet looked at Carlton, noting the soothing sidesway embedded in all parental DNA, the way he held Michael, the baby's head comfortably situated in the crook of his elbow, and most of all, the way he talked to him—a steady croon, meant to soothe, generally nonsensical but knowing Carlton, probably recitations of police code.

"How stupid do we think his wife was?"

"Pretty stupid," Vick responded without missing a beat. "But maybe ultimately to your benefit."

Before Vick could walk away, Juliet stopped her with a hand to her arm. "Chief—about that—" Her throat closed, not sure how to ask—not sure she _should_ ask—but maybe better to get it out of the way now, so she could start thinking ahead. If necessary.

"If things do work out—"

Vick rubbed her forehead, as if pondering the obvious question, but her lack of hesitation in answering made Juliet think that perhaps their boss had already given this some thought.

"While relationships between partners _are_ discouraged, there's also no absolute mandate against it. And frankly, you're in this situation because of a case, so one could argue we had a hand in encouraging it."

Juliet felt as if a giant obstacle had just collapsed, revealing a fork in the road that bypassed a hell of a lot of curves. "You're saying you'd let us stay together, if—"

"If—" Vick cautioned, clearly recalling their earlier conversation. "But should you opt to keep this permanent, yeah—you can stay together. For one thing, I shudder to think of trying to find another detective willing to pair with Lassiter. And we'll also have to discuss some provisions for the future," she added, a faint smile creasing the corners of her eyes as she nodded toward Carlton, still utterly absorbed in baby Michael who appeared to be staring up at him with equal fascination.

Juliet released a long, relieved breath.

Not a certainty—not by a longshot. They still had to go back home deal with readjusting to real life. She had to convince him it would work and that she'd still love him, no matter what.

There was a lot that had to happen before _they_ were a certainty.

But it was a start.

* * *

><p>However, they could only get started if he was actually <em>around<em>.

"Where the hell is he?"

Juliet stood in the middle of Vick's office, fists clenched as she felt the temper her mother had warned her would one day bite her on the behind if she didn't learn to control it, creep up her spine and take her muscles hostage. It was ten a.m. Monday morning, Carlton had yet to show up _and_ was refusing to answer his phone. She'd maintained radio silence since their return late Saturday because she'd promised him time and space, but for him to up and disappear without a word, _that_ went against their unspoken agreement, the bastard. How could they find out how real life would affect them—or not, as she was firmly convinced—if he was too damned scared to face it?

Seated behind her desk Vick hit her with a narrow-eyed stare. "He didn't call you?"

"Would I be in here if he had? And he called _you_? Why the hell would he call you?" She didn't even care that she was bordering on insubordination.

"BecauseI had to sign off on it."

"On _what_?"

"Son of a bitch," Vick muttered, slamming her pen down on the desk. "That stupid, scared, idiotic—"

"Man," Juliet finished when Vick paused, clearly struggling for just the right epithet, the anger draining away at seeing her boss so aggravated. Sinking into a chair, she asked in a resigned tone, "Where is he?"

"He's gone to see Madeleine Spencer."

Juliet's eyes widened. "Madeleine? Really?"

"I know. I was shocked, too, when he made the request." Vick leaned back in her chair. "Apparently, she's the only psychiatrist he's ever really trusted."

Juliet's eyes widened further until she felt the tiny muscles at the corners of her eyes twitching. "_Really_?"

Vick nodded. " Insomuch as he's ever going to trust one, which is to say, not much at all, but still—he made the request which means he's giving the necessity of a psych eval in the light of your experiences weight rather than lip service. That should tell you something."

"Huh."

"Indeed." Vick leaned forward in her chair, resting her arms on the desk's surface. "I did advise him to call you before he left."

"What'd he say?"

"He said he wasn't sure he could." Vick wrapped her hands around her coffee mug and studied Juliet for a long moment that grew more uncomfortable with each second that passed. "I think maybe he was afraid you'd try to talk him out of leaving."

Juliet sat straight up. "I—" Of _course_ she would have. And well did Vick know it. More importantly, well did Carlton know it.

"You're both so damned used to getting your own way." An eyebrow that Juliet would almost _swear_ was amused rose. "I have to admit, this could get interesting."

"If he ever actually lets it get there," Juliet muttered, slouching back in the chair. Feeling more like throwing herself to the ground and kicking her heels and pitching a tantrum that would put a toddler to shame. Unfortunately, tantrums weren't really her style.

She was seeing a lot of disassembling of her sidearm in the immediate future.

"Did he say how long he would be gone?" she asked dully, one thumbnail pushing at the other.

"It depends in part on Madeleine," Vick replied. "I'm expecting to hear from her in the next day or so and O'Hara—"

Juliet glanced up to find her boss regarding her with an apologetic expression.

"Even when I do hear from her, I can't—"

"I'm his _wife_—"

Vick cringed even as her expression remained sympathetic. "Don't do this, Juliet."

Juliet's throat closed, making the next words emerge on a pained whisper. "It's not fair. _He_ wasn't supposed to do this."

"I know. But you know how intractable he can be, especially when he thinks he's right."

"I'm going to kill him." She'd made him a promise and he hadn't trusted her to keep to it. Bastard.

"Don't be so quick to draw your weapon, Detective." Vick rose and round the desk, leaning against the front of it with crossed arms. "We both know he's running scared, but in all fairness to the man, maybe he also thought the additional space would give you needed clarity in dealing with your… outstanding issues?"

Juliet turned to follow her boss's gaze, her heart sinking as she took in the figure currently spinning merrily away in her desk chair—pausing just long enough to give her a cheery wave.

"Oh, _hell_."

"Yeah." Behind her, Vick released a long sigh. "And for what it's worth, Henry hasn't said anything to him, so you might want to take off your wedding ring."

Juliet turned back and steadily met Vick's gaze.

"I can't imagine why I'd want to."


	16. Chapter 16

**Prelude to a Kiss**

I own nothing of **psych,** none of it belongs to me, no infringement intended, TPTB got everything, I got nuthin'.

* * *

><p>He looked good, she thought. Hair lightened to a golden brown and tipped with lighter gold highlights, his skin tan and highlighted by a ruddy windburn that made his bright hazel eyes stand out even more. He might have even lost a little weight. The quintessential California boy, yet with a uniqueness that set him apart.<p>

All in all, Shawn looked better than Juliet had ever seen him—bouncing with his usual Tigger-like enthusiasm because he could never just simply _walk_ anywhere—chattering in his usual stream-of-consciousness way and in no way really sounding or acting like a man who was seeing his girlfriend for the first time in more than two weeks. A month, if you took out the incidental meetings at the station that had become the norm ever since the undercover operation had gone into effect. Juliet pondered that realization as they made their way along the waterfront to the Psych offices because Vick had instructed her to take the rest of the day. She was due to ride a desk anyway until she underwent the psych eval and was cleared for active duty, so she gratefully took advantage of the chief's offer, figuring it would be better to talk to Shawn in an environment that _wasn't_ the SBPD.

Where she didn't expect to see Carlton rounding the corner at any given moment.

She felt herself pulled up short as Shawn gently grasped her arm and steered her toward the bench outside the offices.

As they settled themselves and looked out over the water, a rare stillness overtook him.

"So, what's with the ring? You're actually talking to me, so clearly you're not still undercover."

And all of a sudden, Juliet realized the bouncing, the chatter—it had been a smokescreen. Time during which he'd assessed her. Too late, she wished she'd taken off the ring, feeling as if she'd somehow left Carlton open to attack.

"How long have you known?"

He stared out over the water, not looking smug that he'd guessed or divined or _whatever_, but rather, quiet and contemplative. It took her a minute to recognize it because she so rarely saw it from him, his firefly mind usually on constant Go, his body following its lead with its various twitches and fidgets.

"I guessed something was up after Dad started having me and Gus work exclusively with other teams which strangely coincided with you being spectacularly unavailable _and_ spending more down time hanging with Lassie."

Well, then.

"Your dad was convinced you'd never notice."

Shawn nodded, his narrow gaze still fixed on the distant line of the horizon. "And you?"

Rather than give a straight answer, she simply shrugged and replied with a redirect. "When did you _really_ notice, Shawn?"

"Touché." A short laugh escaped, but it wasn't a happy one. "About the time I got shipped out onto a Coast Guard cutter with Barbara Dunlap as a watchdog. That's really when I put the pieces together." For the first time since they'd sat down, he turned to look at her, his sun-bleached brows drawn together. "You could've told me, you know."

There was a distinct note of hurt in his voice, but for the life of her, Juliet couldn't tell if it was the genuine hurt of Shawn, her boyfriend, that she'd felt she couldn't trust him, or the petulant hurt of Shawn Spencer, Psychic and police consultant, being left out of something big. Really big. Honestly? She was leaning towards option two.

Henry and Vick had made the right call. For a lot of reasons.

"So—?"

She followed Shawn's gaze to her hand.

"Carlton and I were drugged, kidnapped, and talked into getting married." Juliet refused to say "forced" because even though it might get her off the hook, somewhat, with Shawn, it wasn't true and she wouldn't lie about it.

Silence. Nothing but the sounds of seagulls cawing as they wheeled overhead, the quiet rumble of an engine as a boat maneuvered into a slip, waves slapping gently against the retaining wall, and a big, enormously _loud_ silence. Shawn even managed to make silence loud, somehow.

Finally he grinned and leaned back, stretching his legs out. Extending his arms along the bench, he brushed his fingertips against her shoulder. "No, really, what's up?"

Sighing, she edged away from his hand and proceeded to give him the Reader's Digest version of the case, leaving out anything she didn't consider pertinent and that damn well wasn't his business. Sadly, she had to admit that confessing to the man who'd been her boyfriend for close to a year that she'd married her partner, probably _did_ qualify as his business, much as she might not want it to. But not anything else.

"So, end result is, we got the bad guys and Carlton and I are married."

He nodded, lips pursed as in thought, then relaxed into his normal, genial expression. "Well, it's inconvenient, I guess, but at the same time, lets me cross 'date a married woman' off the bucket list. So, how long until you get it taken care of?"

Taken care of. Like it was an accident that needed to be fixed or… or a growth that needed to be removed. No consideration for how she might be feeling or be affected by the situation. Certainly not a single thought that anything beyond the ceremony might have actually transpired between her and Carlton. Basically, nothing beyond how it affected him. Juliet felt a flash of anger that faded just as quickly as it had appeared. Had she really expected anything more from Shawn?

Sadly, no. Deep down, she'd known this was exactly how he'd react.

Regardless, _now_ came the hard part.

"Thing is, Shawn—" She shifted on the bench, tucking a leg beneath her. "I don't want to get it taken care of." Automatically, the fingers of her right hand began rubbing the band on her left, Shawn's sharp gaze following her movements.

"Wait a minute. You're not saying—"

She nodded. "Yeah, I am. I _want_ to stay married to Carlton." The wind blew a piece of hair across her face, making her blink rapidly. At least, that's the excuse she'd give herself. Brushing it back behind her ear, she released a shaky breath and quietly said, "I'm in love with him."

There had to be some kind of bizarre irony in the fact that the second person to whom she'd made the admission, using the actual words, happened to be her boyfriend. Ex? Whatever. That it was Shawn.

After a long silence, punctuated by a disbelieving, wide-eyed stare, a sharp laugh exploded from Shawn. In one exuberant motion, he bounded from the bench. "Holy crap, Jules. You must have been freakin' amazing undercover. God knows, you really had me going there. Can't imagine how Lassie managed to keep up with you. We all know how _he _is undercover."

He swung his head from side to side, dropped to a knee to look beneath the bench, even ran to the Psych offices and pulled the door open. "Gus! You in on this, too? Where's Lassie at? Come on, Lassie, the jig's up—where the hell are you?"

A confused-looking Gus emerged from the offices and came to stand beside Juliet as Shawn poked behind the bushes, ran into the neighboring offices, and even dashed across the parking lot, peering into car windows and banging on trunks, yelling, "Lassie, come on—you did it. You finally got me. I admit it—I never saw it coming. You can come out now," his movements becoming more jerky and desperate.

"Juliet, what's going on?"

"If I told you, you wouldn't believe it."

"I've been Shawn's best friend since we were three."

"Right." She took a deep breath. "Carlton and I have been undercover for a month. And now we're married. As in... _really_ married. Shawn's not… taking it well."

"Right."

Shawn returned to where they stood, panting, the windburn flush turned into something higher—almost feverish—his eyes glittering dangerously.

"Where the hell is he?" he demanded.

"I don't know," she lied. Because there was no way in hell she'd betray either Carlton or Madeleine Spencer that way. "We both have to undergo psych evals as protocol before returning to active duty. He opted to do his away from Santa Barbara."

If he noticed the note of hurt that had crept into her voice, he gave no indication, staring past her into the distance. Finally, he said, "My dad knew? The whole time?"

Juliet sighed, suddenly exhausted to the point of tears. She could have almost predicted that—Shawn looking to redirect blame rather than turn an eye of critical self-examination onto himself or their relationship. Because as far as he was concerned, nothing had been wrong.

Without waiting for an answer, he took off running around the side of the building, her "Shawn—_wait_!" drowned out by the angry growl of his motorcycle, followed by the high-pitched squeal of tires.

Into the sudden silence, Gus's "You and Lassie, huh?" sounded almost absurdly matter-of-fact.

"Yeah." Juliet sighed and rubbed at her forehead. "I suppose I should call Henry and warn him."

Gus shook his head as he took her arm and led her toward the Psych offices. "If he knew about this from the get go, then he's been expecting it. If there's anything Henry knows, it's Shawn. Let him deal with it." Holding the door open, he ushered her into the cool, vaguely Cheeto-scented interior.

"I'm gonna make you a cup of coffee or get you a smoothie if you prefer, and you're going to tell me all about this."

Juliet's eyebrows rose. "I am _not_ telling you all about it, Gus."

"Ew, no." Gus grimaced. "I seriously do not need to know about _that_—especially given that it's, you know, Lassie. No offense," he added hastily as her brows lowered. "But still—you and Lassie?"

His overall expression radiated predictable skepticism, but beneath it was honest kindness and a desire for understanding and Juliet got it. Gus _wanted_ to understand if only so he could have the tools with which to help Shawn understand when the time came. Because the same way her first loyalty was to protect Carlton, his was to protect Shawn. As they sat on the sofa, she put a hand to his arm and kissed his cheek.

"Shawn's lucky to have you, you know."

Gus snorted in a very Gus-like manner. "You know that's right." A moment later, his expression softened and he added, "And Lassie's damned lucky to have you."

Suddenly, Juliet felt the need to talk and maybe Gus wasn't the most fair choice, but he was here and he wasn't a department-approved shrink. Besides, she knew he'd not only understand, but that he'd keep her confidence.

"Yeah, well, about that…"

* * *

><p>"He's gonna come back, Juliet, how could he not?"<p>

Juliet clutched her third smoothie, sucking down the remnants of chocolate and strawberry. "I don't know, Gus. How could he take off that way, without a damned word?"

"Come on, now—Lassie hasn't exactly had the best luck with relationships in the past."

"That's what everyone keeps using as an excuse and I get that, I really do, but you know, Gus, we've been together for six _years_. I've seen him at his worst and I'm _still_ with him. I wouldn't dream of being with anyone but him and he knows it. And that's just as partners."

Gus nodded thoughtfully. "You ever stop to think that maybe that's what has him the most scared?"

"Come again?"

He leaned back into the sofa and propped his feet on the coffee table. "You _have_ seen him at his worst. You're also not afraid call him on his crap when he's being an ass, but at the end of the day, you accept him and have his back. You're his friend. He's secure in that. But maybe, somewhere in the back of his mind, he's afraid now that you've taken it to the next level, one day, without meaning to, he might push _too_ far—to the point where you won't be willing to take his crap, and that you'll leave." He reached into the giant bag of Funyons that had been his side with the lobster roll he consumed for his pre-lunch snack. "Being in love changes everything. And I honestly think it'd break the man."

"You're saying he doesn't trust me."

"I'm saying he doesn't trust himself." Gus lifted the bag to tip it over his mouth, but paused. "Lassie's an ass, but he's a lot more self-aware than people give him credit for."

"And a whole lot blinder, too." As Juliet reached into the bag of sea salt caramels, Gus's phone rang.

"Shawn—"

Juliet started to stand, figuring the impromptu counseling session was over, but slowly eased back into her seat at Gus's frantic gestures.

"You're _what_? What? God, Shawn, what were you thinking? Yeah, yeah, I know… thinking, not always your strong suit. No, I will _not_ bring you a pineapple smoothie. Or a case of Twinkies. What?"

Juliet observed Gus's exasperation and annoyance fade into concern.

"You sure? Yeah. Yeah, I'll check. I'll be there in a while. Do _not_ do anything stupid... er."

As Gus hung up and slipped the phone back into his pocket, Juliet crossed her arms and waited, concerned, of course, but really, equally aggravated. Maybe more.

Story of her life with respect to Shawn and shouldn't that tell her something right there?

"Well?"

"He went after Henry at the station."

"Oh, God."

"Apparently went completely nuts. Grabbed McNab's baton and beat the doughnuts to a pulp."

"Oh, God."

"Henry finally had him put in lockup."

"Oh, God."

"Woody's locked up with him in solidarity."

"Oh, _God_."

"Yeah." Gus stood and fished his keys from his pocket. "He wants to see you."

"Who, Woody?"

As Gus rolled his eyes, Juliet stared up at him, feeling utterly helpless. Really, he'd been so much nicer to her than she deserved, considering she'd just broken his best friend's heart. "What do you think I should do?"

"This is between you and Shawn, Juliet, and I'm not gonna tell you what to do." Hands shoved deep in his pockets, he rocked back and forth on his heels. "But for what it's worth, I do think he's ready to listen. As much as he can be, anyway."

Holding his gaze for a long moment, she finally nodded and followed him out to the Blueberry. At the station, she cringed as she took in the streaks of white power and what appeared to be raspberry jelly splattered across the walls like some violently sugar-coated crime scene before descending the stairs to lockup. In cell three Woody and Shawn sat side-by-side on a bunk, Woody folded into the lotus position and apparently meditating, Shawn, moodily staring off into the distance, appearing to take no notice of her. As she came to a stop outside the cell door, however, he nudged Woody with an elbow.

"Woody, much as I've appreciated the solidarity, the time has come for you to motor."

"What?" Woody blinked and looked around owlishly. "Wow. That was a really good one. For a while there, I _was_ Captain Jack Sparrow, sexually ambiguous pirate pillaging the Caribbean. Enjoying tasty conch fritters, rum, and dalliances with the locals."

"Woodrow, my man, you need to lighten up on the 'shrooms."

"Oh, I did that one without the benefit of mushrooms." Woody unfolded his lanky body and stretched. Nodding at Juliet as he ambled from the cell, he said in his genial tone, "Detective O'Hara. My deepest wishes that you and Detective Lassiter experience eternal happiness together even if it comes at the expense of my dear friend Shawn's poor trampled-upon heart."

"Uh… thanks, Woody." Juliet glared at Shawn who had the good grace to look sheepish. "And I'd appreciate it if you kept the news to yourself until such time as Detective Lassiter and I can announce it together."

"Of course." Woody nodded sagely. "That dark thrill of the secret and forbidden is I'm sure spicing up your sex lives. The wife and I have often imagined the man must be delicious in bed—those quiet intense types so often are. And of course, he's a magnificent spooner."

A speechless Juliet stared as Woody gracelessly lurched forward assisted by a hard shove from Shawn.

"Okay, Woody, it's _really_ time for you to go."

"Oh, okay." Woody nodded and shuffled off toward his lab where it was probably safest for him. Juliet was going to have to warn Carlton before they next encountered the eccentric coroner—God only knew what the man would see fit to say and Carlton already had enough citations on his record for drawing his weapon.

Her breath caught as the scene sprang to life in her mind's eye, so vivid and clear it was as if it was unfolding in that moment: Woody rambling, Carlton fuming, her, soothing. She could practically _feel_ the wool of his suit jacket under her hand and beneath it, the solid warmth of his arm and she just wanted it to be _true_, dammit.

It was just as she'd told Carlton—she simply _couldn't_ envision a future without him.

"I'm guessing that wistful expression isn't because of the sad sight of my brilliance trapped behind the unforgiving steel bars of a prison? But you know the essence of me can never truly be trapped, right, Jules?"

Oh, _Shawn_.

After carefully inspecting the spot on the bunk Woody had occupied, Juliet sat down and waited. Shawn was the one who'd wanted to see her, after all.

Sitting beside her, he folded his hands together and let them dangle loosely between his knees.

"So. You and Lassie." His hazel gaze flickered to her hand and then up to her face, as if searching for confirmation.

"Yeah, Shawn."

"Huh." He chewed his lower lip meditatively, but she figured it was more for show. "I honestly don't get it, Jules."

She wasn't surprised that was his response, now that he was calm. Of course he wouldn't get it, at least, not on the surface. But she suspected that if she forced him to probe further—to really look in a way he tended to resist—he might understand. Certainly, better than he thought he did.

"Let me ask you something."

"Shoot."

"That night, at the Ambassador's mansion, when I finally confessed about us to Carlton, you slunk off. Why is that?"

"I—uh…" His mouth dropped as his brows drew together.

"Come on, Shawn—it's not a difficult question." Crossing her arms she hit him with a hard stare. "You could have stayed by my side, taken the heat along with me, but instead, you disappeared without a word. Why?"

His mouth opened and closed a few times before he helplessly shrugged and said, "Because."

Juliet remained silent—waiting for the rest.

"You know me, Jules—I'm not good around intense emotion." He pushed away from the bunk, pacing the cell's restricted confines. "I've _never_ felt anything like what was going on between the two of you that night. You were both so damned angry and Lassie, man—he looked devastated. And after he said he wanted to go to Vick and ask for a new partner, so did you."

He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. "That wasn't about you and me, or two partners arguing over a secret. It felt… a hell of a lot more personal—on both sides."

"It was," she admitted softly. "Although I didn't really understand that then."

Shawn nodded. Returning to the bunk, he resumed his seat and took her hand in his. A hold in which she felt nothing but friendship. "I did. And if I hadn't, it would've become abundantly clear a couple days later."

She looked from their hands, to his face, which was uncharacteristically serious. "What do you mean?"

He looked away, up to the barred window set high on the wall, then took a breath and met her gaze once again.

"A couple of days later, he took me down to Interrogation again where he hooked himself up to the polygraph."

Her eyebrows rose.

"And he proceeded to tell me that if I hurt you in any way, he'd shoot me. Repeatedly."

"_Carlton_?"

A crooked half-smile tugged at Shawn's mouth. "You're really that surprised?"

"Not about the polygraph, obviously—but that he'd subject himself to it? He's just such a control freak." She shook her head, trying to imagine it and coming up blank. Carlton—hooked up to a machine that would reveal his emotions? To Shawn?

"I guess he had a point to prove."

As Juliet stared helplessly, Shawn shrugged. "That he loves you, Jules."

He carefully released her hand, his thumb giving the etched gold of her wedding band a brief caress. "And that he's willing to do _anything_ that he thinks is in your best interests, whether it's threaten me with bodily harm, or…" He expelled a short, hard breath. "Let you go so you can be happy."

Shawn shook his head with a soft laugh. "I'm not sure I could've done that."

Juliet placed a gentle hand against Shawn's cheek, her heart constricting as he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, but it was a feeling of sympathy more than anything else.

"I'm afraid, Shawn, you're going to have to."

Dropping a gentle kiss to his cheek, she stood and gestured for the uniform to come let her out.

"Hey, are you going to tell my dad it's okay to let me out, too?"

She waved as she headed up the stairs.

"Jules? Jules? Aw, come on, Jules, at least tell him I'm sorry and I'll buy the station doughnuts for a month. Or at least Gus will. _Jules_!"


	17. Chapter 17

**Prelude to a Kiss**

I own nothing of **psych,** none of it belongs to me, no infringement intended, TPTB got everything, I got nuthin'.

**AN: **Not knowing exactly where Madeleine Spencer lives, I left it deliberately ambiguous—let's just assume somewhere along the California coast that's _not_ Santa Barbara.

* * *

><p>"And that's when you knew for sure?"<p>

"For sure?" Carlton glanced over his shoulder then returned to staring out the window. "No. Not for sure. I knew for sure a few weeks later when she nearly died."

"So why didn't you say anything after you realized your feelings?"

"That was _not_ the time. Way too emotional. She wouldn't have believed me anyway." Left unsaid was his opinion that she probably wouldn't have believed him at any other time, emotional or not.

Madeleine's noncommittal, "Hm," was nearly drowned out by the gurgle of the coffeemaker finishing its cycle.

He liked that Madeleine Spencer kept her offices in her home. The overall environment provided soothing, restful surroundings unlike any he'd ever encountered in an impersonal office block or medical building. And after four weeks of every other day meetings they didn't always stay in her office, either, sometimes sharing a cup of coffee in her kitchen or going for a walk.

Carlton had no idea if she did this with all her clients or if she made some dispensation for him because he wasn't so much client as special case. Really freakin' special. He supposed he should be grateful she'd accepted the case at all, given that she would have had every right to kick his arrogant, bad-tempered suspicious ass to the curb. Given how he'd behaved during their initial sessions four years earlier.

Not to mention the whole taking shameless advantage of Juliet thing.

Her son's girlfriend.

_His_ wife.

"What's 'hm'?" he asked as he accepted the mug she offered.

"Seems as if that was a pivotal moment in your relationship."

"Yin and Yang? Sure. The whole thing was pivotal for all of us. Including you and Henry."

"No, not Yin and Yang—Scott."

Madeleine led the way from the kitchen down to the brick patio, shaded with orange and lemon trees and bordered with planters overflowing with herbs. Quiet and fragrant and above all, peaceful. Idly, he wondered if Juliet would like something like this. He'd never tried growing anything—didn't have time for one thing and the one botanical project he'd attempted in during the genetics unit in tenth grade biology had died a horrible death after pointing and laughing at him.

Even at fifteen he'd figured he was likely to have as much success with gardening as with relationships and had left it at that. He'd been content to leave it at that for the longest time but now, like so many other things, he was reevaluating.

Settling into the surprisingly comfortable wrought iron chair he asked,

"How do you figure?"

She smiled serenely over the rim of her mug, looking surprisingly like Spencer if Spencer happened to be a compassionate woman who took the time to actually listen to anyone other than himself. The only woman who'd ever really listened to him outside of Juliet—and Juliet didn't charge by the hour.

Damn, but he missed her. But Madeleine had been insistent. And right.

He sighed. She was waiting for him to figure it out. And she'd wait, too, as long as it took.

"Okay, yeah—I started out glad Scott hadn't shown up because it meant she wouldn't be… leaving." He started out in his usual brusque, defensive manner, faltering, his voice growing softer as he got to the heart of the matter. "I tried to play it off as it being a good thing, no matter how much it might have hurt her."

"Carlton, you told her that all romance ended in despair," she chided mildly.

"Or death," he added with a grimace as he took a sip of coffee. Still not as good as Juliet's but definitely better than average. "Look, in my defense, at that time, I really did believe that all people were essentially out there to destroy others' happiness." He exhaled and set his mug on the glass-topped table.

"Or at least mine."

"Oh, that damnable paranoia."

"At the time I didn't have a whole lot of evidence to the contrary, Madeleine."

"Well, at least you've progressed to saying 'at the time,'" she retorted, her tone dry.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, letting the sound of the breeze rustling the leaves and the muted roar of the ocean provide a soothing backdrop. Breathing deep, he relaxed—at least as much as he could with the awareness that Madeleine wasn't yet done with him hanging over him like some frigging Sword of Damocles. She definitely had something in mind or else she would never have circled back around to this period in his history. He'd mentioned it in passing a couple weeks back, that it was the first time he'd been honestly terrified that Juliet might leave the job—leave him—for someone else.

"So what changed?"

He considered the seemingly simple question and realized the answer was equally simple. "He was a good guy. Probably would've been good for her." He reached for his coffee, swallowing the cooled remnants. "She at least deserved the chance if she'd wanted it."

"But she didn't."

Focused on the shiny dark green leaves of a low-hanging branch, Carlton slowly shook his head.

"So what changed?" On the surface, Madeleine's voice hadn't changed, but there was a subtle force beneath it—prodding him to look further.

Orange trees really were rather pretty, he thought. The blossoms were delicate and contrasted with the sturdy green leaves in a fairly pleasing way. Smelled good. And were practical, too, yielding fruit that could be used in a variety of ways. He'd definitely have to ask Juliet what she thought—if he ever got the opportunity.

"I'm not the most altruistic man on the planet, Madeleine," he said slowly. "In fact, I'm not altruistic at all. But somewhere along the line, I came to the conclusion that all I want for her is to be happy."

"Which is why you told her the only way she'd know for sure with Scott would be to take the chance—so she wouldn't live with the questions and what ifs."

Carlton eyed her warily across the table. Clearly, this was where Spencer had inherited that evil streak. "Don't think I can't see where you're going with this, Dr. Spencer."

She held her hands up in mock innocence. "I'm not going anywhere, Carlton—I just want you to follow the train of thought."

"Right off the rails into Crazytown," he muttered. To Madeleine he said, "Okay, yes—I basically told her the same thing that she said to me about her relationship with- with… Shawn." Only rarely had the other man come up in the course of their conversations and when he did, Carlton made a point to refer to him by his first name in deference to Madeleine.

"And you basically did the same thing with Shawn as you offered to do with Scott. You stepped aside. You put her first." Madeleine leaned forward, arms on the table. "You did the same when she was with Declan Rand. You've been putting Juliet first for a long time, now, Carlton, at the expense of your own happiness."

"Maybe so. But I felt like it was worth it—for her. And it's not like I would've been good for _anyone_ at that point, let alone Juliet." He stared down at the patio, his gaze tracing a path along the sun-warmed bricks. "I will admit," he finally said slowly, "the only time I ever really regretted making that decision was with Shawn."

"Because of the proximity of having to see her with someone else every day or because it's Shawn?"

"Both." Dammit. He'd brought the idiot up and while it wasn't the first time, it _was_ the first time Madeleine had felt the need to pursue it. Now he had no choice but to talk about him. And be honest. Shoving up from the chair, he strode to the patio's edge, looking out over the small, neat yard. "Look, he's everything I'm not. Everything I have to work so damned hard for, comes to him with seemingly no effort. He's personable and carefree and floats through life on fucking charmed wings."

"And?"

Carlton held himself rigid, his earlier relaxation having dissipated along with the breeze, leaving everything utterly silent. Not even a bird dared disturb the eerie stillness. "He's also selfish, irresponsible, reckless, and almost pathologically narcissistic."

"And?"

His teeth ground only a little as he admitted, "He can be an incredibly loyal friend and ally. In those rare moments where he actually looks past himself," he felt compelled to add. Damn Madeleine and her insistence on total honesty.

"While you are?"

He forced his fists to unclench. It wasn't the first time she'd had him list his faults—or attributes as she liked to describe them. But it was the first time she'd had him conduct a direct comparison to anyone.

Of course it would be Spencer. Because it always fucking was.

"Rigid, bad-tempered, self-centered, stubborn, negative, difficult, arrogant, anti-social, paranoid—"

Silently, she let him go on, until slowly, without prompting, the tone of his descriptors changed.

"Cautious, thorough, committed, dedicated, honest, loyal…"

_Devoted, loving, passionate…_ he continued silently. He couldn't quite bring himself to say those out loud, not even to Madeleine, whom he trusted implicitly, but she'd assured him it was perfectly okay to keep some silent, so long as he actually thought them. And _believed_ them.

He had to admit it worked. He wouldn't have ever admitted those last three, even to himself before, much less believed them. But now…

He also half-believed she knew what he was thinking whether he uttered the words out loud or not. While he still fully believed Spencer's psychic act was a load of horseshit, he couldn't be entirely certain that Madeleine wasn't possessed of preternatural ability of _some_ sort. The woman just always somehow seemed to _know_.

Beside him, she took a deep, cleansing breath, generally a sign that they were winding down. "You know, Carlton, I love my son and like any mother, am more than happy to extoll his virtues, but in a side-by-side comparison, I know who comes out ahead. At least in this specific circumstance."

Normally he'd assume Spencer, because, you know, it was _always_ Spencer. Everyone chose him first, the whole reckless gadabout thing so damned alluring, but for the first time, Carlton took a step back and looked—really looked—prodded once again by Madeleine's silent urging.

Much as he hated to admit it, he could see how Spencer would have appealed to the young Juliet. How he had. But she wasn't that girl anymore. Somewhere along the line, Carlton realized, she'd moved past Spencer.

But still, to imagine that it would be in favor of him?

He was willing to believe a lot that might have eluded him in the past, but this seemed to be almost too much.

"I never come out first," he admitted quietly. "Not with something like this. I don't know how to."

"Perhaps you should let Juliet show you how." His sidelong glance took in the older woman's profile, sharp and finely-etched as she stared up into the bright spring sky. "It's not an either or proposition, Carlton. Just because you make the choice to put Juliet first doesn't mean you have to forsake being put first as well. Especially when she _wants_ to put you first."

From the corner of his eye he saw a half-smile tug at the corner of her mouth. "Never in your litany of attributes have you ever mentioned martyr. Don't start now. Especially not out of fear."

_"I love you, Carlton…"_

He'd believed it in Tahoe.

He'd believed it all through that night.

He'd believed it the next morning when she'd stood in his arms and cried, thinking he wouldn't notice.

So why couldn't he believe it now?

He stood there, in that citrus-scented backyard, and waited—

Waited for the doubts and arguments and all the good reasons it would never work to rear their noisy heads.

And heard nothing but birds chirping and leaves rustling and the muted roar of the ocean.


	18. Chapter 18

**Prelude to a Kiss**

I own nothing of **psych,** none of it belongs to me, no infringement intended, TPTB got everything, I got nuthin'.

**AN: ** Next chapter coming very quickly, I promise- don't kill me!

* * *

><p>Juliet rubbed her forehead and tried to concentrate on the files in front of her, but no dice. She'd read the same sentence five times about a bar fight with ensuing fatality and all she could manage to recall was that it was a bar fight. With a fatality. In Santa Barbara. Somewhere. And the only reason she could recall <em>that<em> was because she'd been the detective called to the case.

She knew why she was so scattered. It was Thursday—the day Madeleine Spencer usually called Chief Vick with an update on Carlton. Not that Vick ever actually told her anything pertinent, other than Carlton was doing well, but it was something. The only thing she had outside of the note he'd sent her the first week he'd been away. Not a text or an email, but an actual note. Nothing more than a few brief lines, written in his distinctive block script—sorry he'd disappeared and asked her to please understand. The _please_ underlined. Asking her to be patient. That he missed her.

Signed, "Carlton," in a familiar bold scrawl that made her heart ache.

Five weeks gone was five weeks too long. She just missed him _so_ damned much.

"O'Hara—"

Her head snapped up so fast it was a miracle it remained attached to her neck. As it was, the room tilted alarmingly before righting itself, reminding her that she'd skipped breakfast. And lunch.

But it was only just past one…thirty, she amended with a subtle glance at her watch and where had that last half hour gone anyway? Maybe after she spoke with Vick she'd go to that Greek food cart she and Carlton liked so much—

"O'Hara, are you all right?"

Juliet blinked, the black dots clearing away and leaving in their place Chief Vick, an expression of mild concern drawing her brows together.

"Right as rain, Chief." She took a deep breath and pushed herself to a standing position, fighting not to sway. Okay, this was getting annoying. She skipped meals all the time—at least lately, when she didn't have Carlton with whom to share breakfast or lunch, or even Shawn and Gus badgering her about dinner. She'd peaceably worked a few cases with Psych in the last few weeks, in which _peaceably_ translated to fighting the temptation to pistol-whip Shawn on a regular basis and snapping at him in a very Carlton-like manner, which Gus had pointed out to her in one quiet aside, but the cases did get solved in a timely manner. Otherwise, however, Shawn had made himself pretty scarce with respect to impromptu visits be it during work hours or off time.

Vick didn't look convinced. "You sure?"

"Absolutely." She nodded, ignoring how the bobbing of her ponytail felt more like a lead weight slapping her neck. "Just skipped breakfast and hadn't realized I'd worked through lunch."

"Not good to go missing meals, Detective. Especially with that nasty flu bug that's going around." Buzz appeared at her elbow, all gangly, earnest concern. Shifting the box he held to one hand, he reached into the breast pocket of his uniform with the other.

"Granola bar?" he offered, his affable smile turning to alarm as Juliet blinked and sniffled.

"Detective? I have other flavors in my locker if you don't like Pecan Crunch."

"I'm fine," Juliet insisted with another sniff, feeling her cheeks flaming up. Jesus—she was a mess. Vick _had_ been after her to take a few days but Juliet honestly didn't see the point. What was she going to do? Sit around the house and mope? She could do that just fine at work, thank you, and feel as if she was doing something useful. At last in theory.

_God_, if Carlton would only get his ass back home already.

"I'm fine, Buzz, thank you." Forcing a smile, she made a point of tearing back the wrapper and breaking off a piece, chewing carefully, because while generally, she loved granola and pecans and crunchy, her empty stomach was having issues with the concept. A gyro on the other hand…

"Was there something you needed, McNab?"

"Oh—" Once again Buzz's genial face transformed, from pleased to have contributed to Juliet's continued well-being to alertness at Chief Vick's question. "Yes, ma'am. This just arrived via courier from the FBI—files and evidence deemed unnecessary for the kidnapping case."

Since the kidnappings had wound up crossing multiple state lines, it had become necessary to call in the Fibbies and of course, they'd swooped in and taken all their evidence and taken over the case, dismissing them like annoying small town rubes. Ordinarily, Juliet would be pissed that the Feds would wind up taking the credit for the case she and Carlton had worked so hard on—had gone through so much for—but considering what she'd gotten out of it, she couldn't be too annoyed. Just a little. At least Carlton would get some well-deserved recognition from the federal level. He'd love that. If he ever got his ass _back home_.

"Oh, thank you, Buzz—just put it on my desk. O'Hara—" With a subtle nod of her head, Vick indicated that Juliet should follow. Discreetly tucking the remnants of the granola bar beneath the file she'd been reading, Juliet brushed off her hands and followed the chief into her office.

As soon as the door had clicked shut behind Buzz, Juliet asked without preamble, "Well?"

Vick smiled and shook her head as she broke the seal and removed the lid on the evidence box. "He's fine." And for the first time in the five weeks of weekly kinda sorta not-really updates, Vick added more. "Although she didn't say so directly, I got the impression from Madeleine he may be coming home soon."

"Really?" Once again, Juliet felt her surroundings sway, but in a giddy, effervescent sort of way. Like she was fighting to stay grounded and not float away.

Vick glanced up from box, obviously fighting a smile. "Settle down, O'Hara—she didn't actually say he was returning." Her smile faded and her eyes narrowed, as if considering. Finally taking a deep breath, she added, "However, she did say she felt Carlton had benefitted as much as he was going to from counseling at this point."

"Thank God," Juliet breathed.

"It's not a guarantee, O'Hara." Vick's voice was gentle, but insistent.

"I know." Juliet gripped the back of a chair, her wedding band pressing into her skin. "But it's more than I've had in the last five weeks."

"Understood."

As Juliet nodded and turned to leave, Vick's voice stopped her. "O'Hara—"

"Yeah, Chief?" She glanced over her shoulder to find Vick staring down into the box.

"You might want to keep this." She rounded the desk and pressed the item she'd taken from the box into Juliet's hand. "The Federal case doesn't need it and their case will trump ours anyhow. If we need it for anything, I'm sure we can make a copy."

The DVD recording of their wedding ceremony. Once again, Juliet found herself blinking.

"Hell of a way to see it." Vick's voice held a distinct note of regret.

"It needed to happen," Juliet replied softly.

"Yeah, but still—"

Whatever Vick was about to say was cut off by the sharp knock at her door.

"Yes?"

The door opened to reveal the neutral countenance of a man, mid-twenties, neatly dressed in a suit and tie, shoes shined, messenger bag slung over his shoulder and carrying a clipboard. Juliet rapidly noted all these facts with her detective's brain, fighting an inexplicably uneasy feeling.

"Ma'am, where can I find a Juliet O'Hara Lassiter?"

_Definitely_ uneasy.

Exchanging a glance with Vick, Juliet reluctantly stepped forward, wishing she could fade into the woodwork—wishing she'd never come to work this morning because then this officious little law student moonlighting as a process server and that's exactly what he was, because God knows, she'd seen enough of them, would have never been able to track her down.

"I'm Juliet Lassiter." She rolled the names around on her tongue, tasting the unfamiliar wistful sweetness of them. Of course she continued using O'Hara at work given how her situation with Carlton was currently unresolved, at least as far as _he_ was concerned—not to mention the potential confusion of two Detective Lassiters once he returned—but if this little twerp was going to use Lassiter, then by God, she would too.

"Ma'am." He nodded, thrust an envelope into her hands and held out the clipboard. "You've been served."

"With _what_?" she demanded as she scrawled her name in the indicated spot.

But he was gone so fast, only vapor trails remained in his wake.

Behind her, Vick muttered, "Oh, Jesus God, Carlton, what have you gone and done?"

Because really? Who _else_ would make a point of sending something addressed to Juliet O'Hara _Lassiter_?

Tearing open the envelope, Juliet's gaze quickly skimmed over the sheets, the words shimmering behind a hazy red scrim. Around her, the room swayed once more, completely lacking the fizzy effervescence of a few minutes earlier.

"The son of a bitch wants an annulment."


	19. Chapter 19

**Prelude to a Kiss**

About time to change the disclaimer—at least the wording of it. None of **psych **belongs to me, sadly. Very sadly. For I would do some lovely things with it. Alas. Probably best this way anyhow. TPTB own all of it, I'm just playing.

* * *

><p>Carlton felt his gut tense as he swung into his parking space at the SBPD. He'd originally intended to go home first, clean up, make himself presentable. Traffic had been a bitch, not unexpected, but it had made a long drive that much longer and him that much more irritable, however, the minute he'd crossed the Santa Barbara County line, it was as if there'd been a tractor beam pulling him in, his irritation dissipating, replaced by a growing anticipation. Because god<em>damn<em>. Five weeks. He'd never expected it to go so long, but as Madeleine had pointed out, his life as a whole had needed more than a little overhauling. Not to mention, his relationship with Juliet was more tangled and complicated than most.

Simplest, too, though, when it came down to it.

Bounding up the steps to the building, he pulled open the door and entered, grinning as the cool, tiled interior of his second home enveloped him. For a long time, his first home—his only home—but all of that had changed. Whistling under his breath, he strode down the hallway, nodding at the desk sergeant, his whistle faltering a bit as he noticed the cool stare with which his nod was met. As he continued on into the bullpen, both his smile and sense of home quickly faded as he took in the stares and frowns following him, echoing those of the desk sergeant's.

What the _hell_?

Okay, he wasn't anyone's idea of a favorite coworker, and while yes, he'd been quite the dickhead in the past, he'd rarely engendered this kind of mass hostility. Scorn, sure, but this had the distinct feel of everyone wishing he'd line himself up as a target down at the range so they could take their shots. Up to and including the janitor, whose dark glare followed him down the hall.

And again, what the _hell_?

Finally, just as he reached the bullpen, he encountered a friendly face. "McNab—"

Never had he thought he'd be so damned grateful to see the young officer—it was almost pathetic. But the man couldn't cold-shoulder an army of ants at a picnic and if Carlton had any hope of figuring out what the devil was going on, McNab was likely his best source. Not to mention, an ally. Carlton didn't like to brag—okay, he _did, _but come _on_, he had dialed it back a great deal, in large part due to Juliet's influence and the occasional slap upside the head. At any rate, McNab had never made any secret of how he looked up to Carlton and right now, Carlton wasn't above exploiting the hero worship.

"Good to see you."

"Detective."

Carlton stared, open-mouthed as McNab offered him yet another version of the cool nod and frown, with the added touch of a dismissive snort as he continued on down the hallway. Wait a minute—that nod, the frown, the snort—those was _his_ moves. When had McNab—hell, when had the entire goddamned Santa Barbara Police Department co-opted his patented irascible demeanor?

What the hell had happened in the past five weeks?

Automatically, his gaze searched out the desk he'd been headed for—searched for the person who'd drawn him here—because all he wanted, more than anything, was to see her and hold her and not let go for the foreseeable future, and if the entire damned department saw them, well, so freakin' what.

She was his wife and he wanted the whole damned _world_ to know.

Except—

"She's not here."

Carlton spun to find Karen leaning in the doorway to her office, arms crossed, a variation on a theme of the cool stare and frown on her face along with a healthy measure of disdain. By now, he was kind of expecting it, even if he still didn't have the faintest clue. Frankly, though, it was pretty far down on his list of concerns. Right now, only one thing was paramount in his mind.

"Is she out on a case?" Which would suck, because much as he wanted to see her, he wouldn't distract her while she was working. Besides, sweeping a detective up into a passionate embrace at a crime scene would no doubt be frowned upon. And there's no way there wouldn't be a passionate embrace. It had been five damned weeks. He really should have just gone home first. Taken a cold shower.

Or two.

"Is she out on a _case_?" Karen's eyebrows shot up toward her hairline as she straightened and motioned him into her office with a sharp, authoritative gesture. As soon as the door closed, she turned on him with a ferocity that had him taking an automatic step back, his hands raised in defense.

"Detective Lassiter, I have known you to be spectacularly insensitive, especially when in pursuit of a case, but never have I known you to be deliberately cruel—other than to squirrels." She shook her head, her mouth a tight, thin line. "I have to say, Carlton, I am honestly ashamed of you right now."

"Karen—" he spluttered, but couldn't get more than that out, because his boss wasn't done yet.

"She has been patient, she's been hopeful, she's been absolutely miserable without you, yet she had the fortitude to give your ass the time and space you needed to figure out whatever the hell it was you needed to figure out and you weren't even man enough to face her in person?"

"_Karen_," he tried again, more insistent because hell, now he was getting mad. Clearly something was up but he was the only person who had no fucking clue what.

"What?" she snapped.

"What in the ever loving _hell_ are you talking about?"

"Jesus, Carlton—" she spat, turning away in clear disgust.

"Look—" He grabbed her arm and spun her around, a tiny corner of his mind recognizing it as an act that crossed the insubordination line right on into outright aggression and could well get him fired.

The bigger part of his mind really didn't give a rat's ass.

"I finally have my life figured out. I'm… happy and content in a way I never thought I could be." The words poured out of him in an ever-faster stream. "I come back home, wanting to make a fresh start with the woman I have been insanely in love with for… hell, forever, it feels like, hoping she'll let me, only to discover she's nowhere to be found and everyone around here is treating me like I'm a goddamned axe murderer. Now please—"

He dropped his hand from her arm and took a step back, raising his hands again, this time in supplication.

"Please, would you tell me what's going on?"

"Woman you love?" Karen started angrily, then paused, shaking her head. "Carlton, if you love O'Hara, whom I have to presume is who you mean—"

His jaw dropped, which made his boss's eyes widen as she nodded her head. "Okay, it _is_ who you mean." She crossed her arms and nailed him with an accusatory stare. "Why on earth would you have her served with annulment papers? At work, no less—where everyone could see? Why would you do that to her?"

Carlton had never understood the phrase "felt the blood drain from his face."

Until now.

"She was served?" His lips felt as if they were frozen, barely able to force the words out.

"Earlier today." Karen's brows drew together. "She was furious."

"Oh, _crap_ on the holiest of crackers. That wasn't supposed to happen—" He breathed shallowly. Think… think… what did he need to do now? _Think_, dammit. "Where is she now?"

Still regarding him somewhat suspiciously, but with a dawning understanding, she replied, "I had McNab drive her home. Didn't trust her to do it herself after watching her disassemble and reassemble her weapon seven times in a row. Nearly shot Woody when he tried to bring her some herbal tea."

Despite his growing alarm, he couldn't help the faint smile that crossed his face. That was his girl, all right.

Hoped, at least. That she was still his.

"I gotta go."

"Carlton—"

Karen's soft voice stopped him with his hand on the knob and made him glance back.

"She wasn't just furious—she was pretty much devastated. Be… careful, okay?"

He understood. Not be careful because Juliet might shoot him—he suspected Karen and everyone else would be just fine with that. More, be careful _of_ her.

The warning wasn't necessary.


	20. Chapter 20

**Prelude to a Kiss**

About time to change the disclaimer—at least the wording of it. None of **psych **belongs to me, sadly. Very sadly. For I would do some lovely things with it. Alas. Probably best this way anyhow. TPTB own all of it, I'm just playing. Slight spoilers for _"Heeeeeeere's Lassie,"_ contained herein.

**AN: **Just a short, interlude-y chapter with which to whet your appetites, but never fear, crime fighters, next chapter will be up very, very soon.

* * *

><p>Exhausted and faintly sick, Carlton leaned his head against the wall of the elevator as it made its slow way up to the fifth floor. She hadn't been home. She hadn't been at any of the nearby parks. None of their favorite beach benches or lunch carts or cafes or restaurants. Hell, he'd even driven up to where they'd hiked a few times and waited at the trailhead, hoping, like some dope, that she'd magically appear from the dense stand of trees and rocks, smiling, welcoming, happy to see him.<p>

Dope.

He already knew she was pissed. Disappointed.

Devastated.

His stomach lurched uncomfortably.

He was so fucking stupid, thinking—

That was the problem. He'd thought. He'd planned when he _knew_ better.

Because, since karma had a nasty-assed sense of humor, planning, that salve to his slight OCD inclinations and powerful asset in his professional life, had a tendency to blow up in his face when it came to his personal life.

Victoria and the diamond necklace. That had been almost Fourth of July fireworks spectacular hadn't it?

Or how about the condo toward which he was currently trudging. Another perfect example of karma at her pissy best now, wasn't it?

Then again, in the end look what it had brought him—

That he'd completely screwed up.

_Stop it. Just stop it._

There was no use dwelling further until he had a chance to speak with Juliet—if he could only _find_ her. He'd left concerned in the dust and charged on into worry that was contributing to the sick feeling in his stomach. He'd been tempted to sacrifice his last shred of dignity and beg Vick to run Juliet's plates—until he'd remembered , yeah—McNab, drove her home, her car still parked at the SBPD.

She could have rented a car, he supposed.

She could've crossed the border. Any border.

Getting as far the hell away as she could from him and his towering idiocy.

What the hell had he been _thinking_?

Turning the key in the lock, he pushed the door open, only just registering the sense he wasn't alone—

Then blinding pain struck.


	21. Chapter 21

**Prelude to a Kiss**

None of **psych **belongs to me, sadly. Very sadly. For I would do some lovely things with it. Alas. Probably best this way anyhow. TPTB own all of it, I'm just playing. Slight spoilers for _"Heeeeeeere's Lassie,"_ contained herein.

* * *

><p>"The <em>hell<em>?"

Carlton staggered back, eyes huge as he automatically groped for a weapon Juliet already knew he didn't have on him, his hand dropping as he realized it was her.

"You son of a bitch," she snarled, shoving him against the wall and balling her aching fist up once more. "You stupid, scared son of a bitch." She advanced, wishing like hell she didn't feel so much like killing him because she'd missed him so damned much and he was finally here and dammit, in spite of the fact that she wanted to kill him, she wanted to take him in her arms and tell him all the different ways he was being an idiot.

All the different ways she loved him, even though what he'd done felt like a knife through her heart.

Maybe _after _she killed him.

"You _lied_ to me." She drew her arm back, but this time he was prepared, catching her fist in his larger hand and spinning her around until he had her pinned to the wall, his larger body holding her in place. Infuriating her further because dammit, he felt lean and hard and so much like _home_ and she didn't want to feel that way. She _wanted_ to stay blinding rage _mad_ at him. She wanted to make him hurt the way he'd hurt her, the bastard—

"I didn't lie, Juliet. I _swear_—

"You _did_." She squirmed against his hold, managing to drive an elbow into his ribs hard enough to make him grunt and cause his hold to loosen. Sliding away from him, she gave him a hard shove into the wall before spinning away, gasping. And damn him, because even through a scrim of blurry, stupid, wet tears, he looked wonderful, in his wrinkled shirt and khakis, with that messy salt-and-pepper hair and those intensely blue eyes rimmed in red and exhausted looking shadows and she _wanted_ to believe him so badly. But no… no, no, no… she couldn't. Not after what he'd done. Not when she had the proof, right there in black and white. Not when every damned person who knew them had _seen_ what his betrayal had done to her—

"You _lied_, Carlton—you said you needed time and maybe you didn't say so outright, but implied was that you'd give us a chance." She snatched that damnable folder and its incriminating contents from the dining table where she'd tossed it after reading it for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"_This_ is not giving us a chance, you coward!" She threw the folder, the papers fluttering like some sort of obscene confetti. "And if you think it can be that easy, you're an idiot as well as a coward."

Ducking the flying papers and wincing as the corner of the stiff folder clipped his cheek, he took a determined step forward, his eyes blazing blue fire, his mouth in a familiar tight line. Oh, he was mad now? _He_ was mad?

Good. Great. Bring it. Her fists clenched in preparation.

"Juliet, stop it—" Oh, goody, he was close enough, but once again, he read her correctly, catching her arm before it could connect. "Dammit, Juliet, _please—_" He yanked her in close, as if he knew, dammit—that feeling him against her was her Kryptonite. "Stop—you don't understand."

"I understand you don't want to be married to me anymore." All of a sudden all of the fight and all the fury she'd built since the moment she'd opened that miserable envelope deserted her, leaving her drained and gasping as she collapsed against his chest. "You don't want me," she whispered against his shirt front, breathing him in even as she pounded a weak fist against his chest.

His arms tightened around her. "God, baby, no— _no_. That's the furthest thing from the truth."

The endearment, heard only once before, deep within the dark and quiet of that too-short night he'd promised in exchange for time, had the combined effect of engendering hope along with a fresh wave of anger as she remembered, in a flood of detail, _everything_ about that night. No matter what she'd feared, that had been a night that promised forever. Not goodbye.

"Then _why_, dammit?" She pounded his chest once more, her fist opening and laying flat over his heart, the speed and power with which it was pounding traveling along her arm and into her own chest, making her gasp as she felt the force of his emotion.

"Why, Carlton?"

"It was stupid—I was stupid." His cheek rubbed against her hair as his hands stroked the length of her back. "I didn't think they'd be delivered until I was back."

As her breath caught, he continued, his words emerging in a rush. "I wanted an annulment because I wanted to ask you to marry me." His hands stilled at her waist as he continued in a miserable voice, "Everything was so fucked up with this stupid case and we got caught in the middle and you know, I just wanted to do _something_ right."

She felt one hand leave her back and reach between them, fumbling in his pocket. A moment later he held a small box between them.

"You asked me in Tahoe if I'd ever given anything like what happened between us thought." His chest rose and fell beneath her palm in a huge shuddering breath. "And I said yes, but I didn't tell you exactly _what_ I'd thought."

Speechless, she stared up into his face, studying the dark arches of his brows, the thick lashes rimming his eyes, turned a deep, soft gray blue, the fine lines radiating from the corners not detracting from them in the slightest. Her gaze took in his high, broad cheekbones and the distinctive line of his nose, following it to his mouth, normally held in such stern lines but now—for her—relaxed into the shape she recalled fitting hers so very well.

"So tell me," she finally said quietly.

"That I'd entertained too damned many fantasies about us. Not just physical fantasies, but _us_, Juliet." His hand trembled slightly against her back. "Together, in every way. I dreamed about asking you to marry me."

"But—" she started, but stopped as his hand moved from her back to press against her lips.

"Yeah, I moved on, but only after it seemed you had." One brow rose. "Or at least, I tried. In the end, it was monumentally unfair—to both of us. But she's the one who realized it."

Juliet's eyes widened as she understood the implication of his words. "So you weren't with her when we—" She faltered, unable to finish the sentence, slightly distracted by the feel of his fingers against her mouth.

Not that she needed to finish the thought.

"She broke up with me not long after I moved in here." She watched as a sad smile crossed his face. "Guess she got tired of hearing me go on about how you'd taken care of me in the wake of that Amy whackaloon. How there was no way in hell Spencer deserved you."

At his words she recalled with crystal clarity, the stomach-churning fear she'd experienced at Shawn's call—his description of taking down a drug-hampered, sword-wielding Carlton with a tackle he'd bragged about, saying that some good had clearly come from his time with the pro football team. Remembered how her first concern hadn't been for Gus's well-being or even Shawn's but for Carlton—was Carlton okay?

Dammit, Shawn, yes, she was sure the tackle was splendid and yes, it was a shame no one had been videotaping it because yes, yes, surely ESPN would have featured it in their nightly Top Ten moments, but was Carlton okay?

She remembered tucking the blanket around him and taking him back to the station and sitting with him on the sofa in Vick's office. How the adrenaline based in the terror and confusion of the past several days had finally drained away and combined with the lingering effects of the amyl to lure him into a deep sleep. He had no idea how she'd eased him down so his head rested in her lap and sat there for hours, stroking his hair and when it seemed as if a bad dream was trying to grab hold of him once again, taking his hand in hers and rocking him gently until the lines of tension had eased. He had no idea how he'd turned into her, one arm reaching around her waist and holding on—trusting her, even in sleep, to take care of him.

He had _no_ idea what that had done to her.

Just over two weeks later Vick had called them into her office and well… well… here they were.

"That wedding was such a damned sham, no matter how legal it was and then we had to see our first kiss on a video with a bunch of strangers watching us." His teeth dug into his lower lip in that endearing manner he had when he was fighting for words.

"I filed those stupid papers because I wanted us to start fresh. I wanted to ask you to marry me—the right way."

He flicked the box open, revealing a diamond solitaire, three smaller diamonds descending from either side, set into the etched gold band echoing the one she already wore. That, she noticed, he also still wore.

Every line of his body held tense, he softly said, "I wanted to finally tell you how damned much I love you, Juliet." He swallowed, the muscles working along the long line of his throat. "I was too fucking scared to tell you how much I love you."

Juliet searched his gaze, deeply blue and filled with all the same fear and hope and dreams she'd been feeling the past five weeks. Hell, longer than that, truthfully. And said the only thing she _could_ say.

"God, you're an _idiot_."

She suppressed a laugh at the confusion widening his eyes so that a full rim of white surrounded the beautiful blue.

"Come here."

She tried to grasp his hand, but he refused to move, frozen in place, the question hovering over him.

"No," she said flatly, crossing her arms, feeling a twinge of pity as his shoulders slumped, the life seeming to drain out of him like air leaking from a balloon. But she only let him suffer for the briefest of moments—she simply didn't have it in her to torture him. At least not in this manner.

She did, however, have _plans_.

"You idiot," she said softly. "I am not going to say yes to your marriage proposal because we're already married and I'm quite happy to stay that way."

"But—"

Her turn to stop him by pressing her fingers to his mouth, shivering at the wash of warm, damp air across her skin as he exhaled.

"Carlton, I don't need it—" She shifted her hand to cup his cheek, her heart skipping a beat as she felt him lean into her touch. "I don't need the ceremony or the ritual. I've got what I need right here." Her thumb caressed his skin, shivering at the feel, warm and rough with stubble beneath hers. Smiling, she extended her left hand. "I will, however, be more than happy to wear your ring."

For long, charged moments they did nothing more than gaze at each other—a moment in which she felt they exchanged vows and promises every bit as important and binding as the ones they'd spoken to each other in that Tahoe chapel. Finally, he nodded slowly and tugged the ring free from the box's leather-lined interior, slowly sliding it onto her ring finger until it was nestled up against the band, not quite an exact match, but nevertheless looking as if they belonged together.

Kind of perfect, really.

"It's beautiful, Carlton." She turned her hand slightly, watching the play of light on the solitaire and the six smaller stones studding the band. One for each year they'd been together. Overall, it wasn't especially large or flashy, but that was fine with her—it wouldn't get in the way during work but more importantly, it suited her.

"Now—" Once again she took his hand and led him to the sofa. Picking up the remote, she turned on the television, noting with a sidelong glance, his surprise as they appeared on the screen.

"Juliet, what—"

"Just watch. Actually—" She took a deep breath and increased the volume. "Just listen." She didn't know what had compelled her to watch the damned thing. Especially considering how mad she'd been when she got home. But she'd figured maybe she'd see something—hear something—that might give her some clue what the hell was going on in her husband's brain. Maybe she'd been trying to reassure herself—that what she'd seen on the screen that day, had actually been real and not some figment of her imagination.

What she'd seen had given her both hope and a renewed determination that she was damned if she was going to give the man an annulment. No way was she letting him off the hook _that_ easy.

The point she started the recording now was near the end of the ceremony—just after the officiant had pronounced them husband and wife and Carlton had barely let the man finish before he was lowering his head, his hands cupping her face, a smile of absolute joy lighting his eyes and entire face. This was when he'd paused, just for an instant, to say something, but neither of them had had any idea what, since the tech had been fast-forwarding, less concerned with them, than what potential evidence they might discover on the video.

_God, I love you, Juliet._

As he started to turn, she held up her hand, shushing him because this next part—it was softer and not so obvious, since the camera hadn't been angled to fully capture her face.

_I love you, too, Carlton. So much._

She hit pause and tossed the remote to the table. For a while they sat in silence, his hand automatically reaching for hers as they studied the image frozen on screen. Juliet knew he was seeing the same thing she saw—knew, in that way she knew her partner of the past six years, that he was thinking the same thing she thought. Yeah, maybe they'd still been somewhat under the influence of a drug, but only in so much as it affected their memories. Otherwise, though—yeah. No one could look at the faces of the couple on the screen and doubt that the words they'd spoken to each other were utterly honest and true.

"It's a hell of a thing, really."

"What is?"

He shrugged. "Three times in my life I've been under the influence of illegal substances. Oddly enough, all of them within the last year. One time, I shot Bobo the Donut man. Another, I tried to skewer Guster like a shish kebab—third time, I suppose you could call the charm since all that happened then was I got kidnapped and married the love of my life. Other people get stoned, they get a simple case of the munchies." He shook his head slowly. "Me? I wield deadly weapons and get married. How weird is that?"

She laughed as she scooted closer to him on the sofa, draping one leg over his thigh. Leaning her head on his shoulder, she said, "Is it weird, really, or just par for the course, for us?"

"I don't know." A long heartfelt sigh lifted his shoulders. "I do know, however, that I'm ready to be done with weird for a while, Juliet." He slid his arm around her shoulders, his fingers playing through her hair in a way that had her arching against him like a cat and damn near purring. It'd been five _very_ long weeks, for God's sake. "I just want to settle into a normal life—with you."

Deliberately she walked her fingers across his chest until she reached the buttons of his shirt, a few already conveniently undone. "Any ideas what would constitute normal, Detective?" she asked in a low voice.

Capturing her hand in his, he gently eased her down onto the sofa, eyes darkening with intent.

"Well Detective, I'd be more than happy to give you a practical demonstration."

Winding her arms around his neck she smiled.

"Sounds like a promising start."


	22. Chapter 22

**Prelude to a Kiss**

None of **psych **belongs to me, sadly. Very sadly. For I would do some lovely things with it. Alas. Probably best this way anyhow. TPTB own all of it, I'm just playing. Slight spoilers for _"Heeeeeeere's Lassie,"_ contained herein.

* * *

><p>Good Lord, but it had been a spectacularly <em>long<em> five weeks.

Yet for whatever reason, Juliet was content to simply lie beneath Carlton on the sofa, doing nothing more than kissing slowly, leisurely, savoring the textures and smells and tastes—the sheer _feel_ of him against her after those five achingly long weeks. Soft tender kisses, tentative almost, as if exploring each other for the first time. Gradually increasing in firmness, becoming deeper, as they learned once again how best they fit together.

_We fit together in every way_, she thought as he angled his head slightly, the tip of his tongue teasing the seam of her mouth, warm and insistent, his teeth tugging lightly at her lower lip and making her shiver. One hand held her head steady while the other slowly drifted from shoulder to elbow, pausing for a moment to tease the sensitive skin of the inside before traveling down to her hand, lacing their fingers loosely, as his thumb stroked slow maddening patterns on the inside of her wrist in time with the stroking of his tongue.

And just as she hazily thought, _Oh, God_, _yes, please, more…_he pulled back slightly, shifting to nuzzle the sensitive skin beneath her ear, dropping light kisses along the line of her throat all the way down to where the buttons on her shirt began. For long moments he remained there, doing nothing more than breathing slowly, his mouth a damp, warm presence along the curve of one breast, his hold on her hand secure. Never had she felt safer. Never had she felt more like she was home.

With her free hand, she stroked his hair, savoring the slide of the short, soft strands and idly scratching the back of his neck.

"Carlton?"

"Yeah?"

"Take me to bed."

An unhurried tension underscored their every move, allowing her to stand calmly in the shadowed dark of their room as he slowly and carefully unbuttoned her shirt and pushed it from her shoulders, his mouth finding that incredibly sensitive spot at the base of her neck while his hands unfastened her bra and let it fall to join her shirt on the floor. His hands drifted over her body sure, but reverent, flooding her skin with warmth and sensation, making her arch into his touch, silently urging him to give her more.

In turn, he stood quietly, hands playing gently in her hair, while she performed the same task, unbuttoning his shirt, spreading her palms flat across the warm, hair-roughened skin, rising on tiptoe to press her lips to the small mole on his collarbone normally hidden from sight. Slowly, she unfastened his belt and slacks, the backs of her fingers teasing him through the fabric before she sank to her knees, the layers of fabric following.

His hold on her hair tightened only slightly as she slowly explored muscle and skin and warmth, the intoxicating combinations of smooth and rough, hard and soft, with hands and mouth, driving him to the edge, his entire body growing ever more livewire tense… _finally_ desperate, yet she knew—this wasn't what he wanted. Not now. That sort of completion was for later. She retreated, resting her forehead against his hip and breathing deep, more than a little livewire tense herself at the knowledge of what she could do to him. The knowledge that he could do the same and more to her.

The power they had over each other would be terrifying if it wasn't for the fact they trusted each other so completely.

Then again, that's what maybe made the power all that much more potent.

She allowed him to lift her to her feet, opening her mouth to his kiss, harder and more demanding now as he guided her to the bed, his hands busy with the rest of her clothes so by the time he lowered himself over her, she was nude and ready , her desperation matching his.

"Juliet," he sighed as he lay flush over her, the weight and feel of him over and in and around her the most complete sensation she'd ever experienced. Her breath caught. _This_ was what it was supposed to be like. This was what all the novels and movies tried to depict and failed at so spectacularly. There was just no way at all to describe how this felt—because how could they know? It was unique and individual and… _theirs_. No one else would _ever_ make her feel this way—this perfect, this complete.

"Don't you ever leave me again," she whispered fiercely in his ear, punctuating the demand with a sharp bite to the lobe that made him hiss and arch harder into her, in turn, prompting a groan and answering tightening of her muscles as she dug her nails into his back.

They went back and forth in this way, a physical call and response, arousal growing in slow, lazy increments until finally he pushed himself up onto an elbow, his free hand stroking her hair back from her face. Even in the dim light his extraordinary eyes stood out, rendered a clear pale blue in which everything was visible—every thought, every emotion normally kept under such tight rein. More evidence of how very much he trusted her—

How much he loved her.

"I won't. I swear to God, Juliet, I'll never leave again."

She gazed up into his face, brushed the backs of her fingers against his cheek as she read the uncertainty—that question he was so afraid to ask—lurking deep in the pale blue depths of his eyes.

"I won't ever leave you either, Carlton. This is it for me—this is forever." She punctuated the final word with a slow undulation and another gentle bite to the base of his neck, marking him.

Dropping his head, he captured her mouth with his as their bodies moved together, rising to a peak, higher and higher until finally, she toppled over the edge, gripping sweat-slick shoulders and gasping his name. Saying _I love you_. Her body shuddering beneath his, cushioned by his low voice encouraging that it was okay, that he was there for her, he'd hold her.

And as she floated down, secure in his embrace, he drove into her one final time while she held him close and whispered to him that it was okay.

She'd catch him, too.

She'd always catch him.


	23. Chapter 23

**Prelude to a Kiss**

None of **psych **belongs to me, sadly. Very sadly. For I would do some lovely things with it. Alas. Probably best this way anyhow. TPTB own all of it, I'm just playing. Slight spoilers for _"Heeeeeeere's Lassie,"_ contained herein.

* * *

><p>"I don't scare easily, Juliet."<p>

She laughed softly, her breath warm against his bare chest. "I know."

Carlton stared at the ghostly shape of the curtains rippling with the light breeze, his fingers idly toying with her hair. He'd hated when she first had it cut, had loved the long blonde length of it even as he'd tortured himself with yet another fantasy—of one day seeing it spread across his pillows. After a while though, he'd come to appreciate the shorter length, the way it waved around her face and shoulders, and the darker color she'd adopted, the combination making her appear both softer and more mature. And it still looked every bit as magnificent spread across his pillows as he'd once imagined and had never allowed himself to believe would ever be possible.

"I have never in my life been as terrified as I was when I went to your place today and didn't find you there. Not even when I found you on that damned clock tower." Normally, he'd fight like hell to hide the tremor in his voice but what the hell—he had no secrets from this woman. Even if he tried, she somehow always knew. Hell, half the time, she knew even before he did.

"Vick told me McNab had driven you home and you weren't there and I thought maybe, I'd finally—"

"I was here the whole time, Carlton." She shifted, making him breathe deep at the feel of her smooth, strong thigh rubbing against his as she propped herself up on an elbow. Her fingers warm against his face, she turned him to meet her gaze, intent even in the shadowed dark.

"This has been home for me since you left."

Her fingers drifted from his face back to rest on his chest as he took a better look around the room, noting small touches—her robe tossed across the foot of the bed, the scent of vanilla and jasmine that he recalled from the nights she'd spent with him during the case but that after five weeks should have ceased lingering, a pair of her heels tumbled one over the other in the corner, and what really caught his eye: a couple of photographs on the bedside table that hadn't been there before. The first was one he'd originally had on the bookshelf in the living room—of the painting party from when he'd first moved in, Juliet standing beside him, paint-stained and smiling and even then, looking perfectly at home.

Clear as day, he could recall the wistful expression on her face as she'd rolled paint onto the walls of this room, listening to him babble about how he hoped Marlowe would like the colors he'd chosen. She'd responded that the dove gray was perfect—soothing and restful but warm at the same time. A haven. Just what a bedroom should be. She'd suggested the added touches of pale and navy blue for contrast, neither overwhelmingly feminine or masculine and the sheer white curtains at the window to soften the classic crown molding.

Ironic that Marlowe would never set foot in this room whereas from that first day, Juliet had left her mark on it.

The other photograph was one he'd never seen—turning the bedside lamp on to its lowest setting, he picked the frame up and studied the image more closely. It was them—in the Lake Tahoe chapel, clearly post-ceremony. The sort of "casual" shot photographers always tried to stage that looked anything _but_ casual. This one, though, Carlton knew had clearly been caught on the sly. He and Juliet were both so reserved that had they noticed any photographer trying to horn in on such a private moment, weapons likely would have been drawn.

At the same time, however, how could he be upset when he had this? A single fleeting moment captured on film—like that moment in the video where he'd unwittingly confessed—that was achingly raw and honest and exposed them at their most basic. Sitting in a pew, angled toward each other, heads bent, dark over light, hands clasped, eyes closed, clearly just… _savoring_. The moment, the experience, and most of all, each other.

No posed wedding portrait could have more accurately captured what they meant to each other.

"More of our wedding package, apparently," she said quietly. "A bunch of photographs arrived about a week after we got back and when I saw this one, I just—" Her fingertips grazed the simple wood and silver inlay frame in which she'd preserved the photograph. "It was just—"

"Perfect," he finished. Returning the frame to the table, he gathered her close and breathed her in.

"Yeah." The hand on his chest stroked small circles, her fingertips playing through the hair and raising goosebumps along his arms. "I hope you don't mind that I—" She sighed. "I just felt closer to you here and I was missing you so much."

He could hear it—the sadness and the longing—and wanted to kick himself for having caused the former while at the same time, feeling a sense of wonderment that he could not only hear the latter, he believed it. He believed she'd wanted him as much he wanted her.

"Of course I don't mind." He brushed her hair back from her face, taking in each lovely, beloved feature. "As far as I'm concerned, this has been our place since the first night you stayed here." A short laugh escaped, making her give him _that_ look—the one where her brows drew together and she regarded him like he was vaguely nuts.

"Even if I was too freaked and scared to admit it to myself, let alone you," he explained.

"I think both of our subconscious were ahead of us on that score."

"You mean because we couldn't seem to keep our hands off each other in our sleep?"

A slow, sly grin crossed her face as she nodded. "I have to admit, there were times during the case where I seriously considered pleading exhaustion and an early bedtime."

"Oh?" Not like the same thought hadn't crossed his mind on occasion after which he'd of course berated himself for being a shameless horndog. But to discover she'd felt the same way?" "How early?"

"As soon as we got home." In the low light from the lamp her skin turned an enticing shade of pink even as her expression practically shouted defiance.

"I wouldn't have argued." At her raised eyebrow he felt himself grow warm and added, "Okay, much." As she nodded, satisfied, he said, "Hey, in my defense, I've still got a pretty good dose of Catholic guilt going on."

"Well, you can tell it to settle on down, now that I've made an honest man of you." She patted his bare hip gently, before dragging her fingertips up his side, making him simultaneously yelp and twitch with renewed arousal.

"You're _ticklish?_"

"O'Hara—"

"You're ticklish."

"O'Har—_hey_!"

In an instant she'd flipped him fully onto his back and was straddling his thighs, pinning him in place in part because she was far stronger than her build suggested and in part because _she_ was naked and _he_ was naked and well, more than a little exposed and one wrong move could hamper his abilities to father her children.

Which he had every intention of doing. If she wanted.

Squirming beneath her insistent and devilish fingers, he finally managed to trap her wrists and hold them still.

"Kids."

Her thighs relaxed slightly not that it helped him any, because she was still wrapped around him, warm and strong, her breasts brushing his chest as she leaned forward to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, right where he could feel his pulse hammering insistently.

"What about them?"

"You do want them, don't you?" He continued in a rush, "It's just, it was a huge misunderstanding with Victoria and I don't want there to be any confusion between us—"

Slowly, she sat up, the odd expression on her face making his heart stutter. "Uh, yeah… about that."

He felt a hot shaft of disappointment knife through his gut but at the same time—he could understand. She was still young and relatively early in her career and God knows, she was as ambitious in her own way as he'd been. And they were together. That was the important part. And she _was_ young—maybe in a few years she'd be ready to reconsider. He'd just have to quit thinking of himself as too old. For God's sake, Charlie Chaplin fathered children at seventy-three. There was no way Juliet would make him wait that long—

"Carlton, stop it—"

He blinked. "What?"

"I want kids."

"Okay." He blinked again. "But you sounded so—"

She bit her lip. "What I was starting to say was that about that—"

Taking a deep breath, she exhaled a garbled rush of words that to his mind sounded something like

_Ididnthave mydiaphragm whenwewereinTahoe andohbytheway Ididntuseittonight eithersoits entirelypossible…_

He blinked again, his brain processing, separating out the garbled rush into syllables and words, and… and…

"Do you mean…" He could barely force the words out past the hammering of his heart against his chest.

Eyes wide, she shook her head, reaching for his hands. He wrapped his fingers around hers, holding on for dear life. Feeling her holding on just as tight.

"I honestly don't know. I… I am late but I put that down to stress over… you know, all of this, and us—"

A pang of guilt twisted painfully in his chest. He'd spend the rest of his life making it up to her, he swore. The rest of his damned life, starting from the moment he'd crossed the threshold and she nailed him with that extremely effective right cross.

"Enough with the guilt, Carlton." He snapped out of his thoughts to find Juliet gazing down at him another indulgent smile on her face. "You did what you had to do."

"But I left you alone—"

"And now you'll never have to again, right? Because you've figured out that not only do I love you, but you're so damned worthy of being loved, right?"

He stared up at her, shaking his head. "How in the hell _do_ you do that?"

"Practice," she answered practically. Her voice softened and she added, "And because I do love you so much."

"I know." He took her hands in his. "I love you, too. So—" He felt his hands tremble slightly around hers. "You're late."

She nodded. "And I have been feeling a little weird the past couple of days but I thought it was just because I was skipping meals and missing you so damned much—" The corner of her mouth curved in a slight smile although her brows were still drawn together. "It's still early—maybe too early, really—and anyway, I wanted to wait for you to come back before I, you know… found out for sure."

She wrestled one hand free and cupped his cheek. Automatically, he leaned into her touch, turning his head to press a kiss to her palm.

Her voice was soft. "Maybe it's a little sooner than I might have wanted, if only because I'm selfish and want more time for just us… but Carlton, ever since the first moment I saw you holding Michael in Tahoe, all I could think of was how much I couldn't wait for the day I could see you holding _our_ baby." She grinned. "If I could convince you to quit being an idiot."

"Good luck with that," he shot back, tugging her forward so she lay completely flush over him.

"Good point." She grasped his wrists, pulling them up over his head. "The bigger issue was convincing you that I really love you."

"Oh, I believe that now." He breathed deep, lifting his head to nuzzle her neck, tasting her soft skin.

She shivered and undulated against him, making him arch against her, but not really fight for dominance, oddly content to let her take the lead. "Let me think I still need to convince you, hm?" she murmured in his ear, sending heat straight through his chest and stomach, down to where he was already more than a little aroused. A fact which clearly made _her_ happy, judging by her grin as she sat up just far enough to allow her to reach back and caress him, making him shiver again and groan.

"If that makes you happy," he gasped as she continued doing things with her hand that sent stars shooting across his vision.

With one final lingering caress she released him and leaned forward once more, her body draped fully along his, chest to toes.

"_You_ make me happy, Carlton." Juliet gazed at him with those stunning dark blue eyes, the expression in them enough to make him believe anything—_everything_. "As far as I'm concerned, anything else is just a bonus."

Slowly, slowly, his hands drifted down her arms, savoring the warm, silky feel of her skin to loosely circle her waist as he reached up to meet her mouth with his.

"Screw bonus," he said softly. "I'm going to spend the rest of my life making you feel like you won the damned lottery."

He felt her smile against his mouth. "Overachiever."

"Determined."

"Damn, I'm lucky."

"I'm the lucky one."

"Quit arguing and let me collect my winnings, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am."


	24. Epilogue

**Prelude to a Kiss**

None of **psych **belongs to me, sadly. Very sadly. For I would do some lovely things with it. Alas. Probably best this way anyhow. TPTB own all of it, I'm just playing.

And lo, the "one-shot" comes to a close… twenty-three chapters later. *g* Thanks to all of you who encouraged me to keep going—believe me, I had _no_ idea it was going to turn into such a rambly epic, but it sure has been fun. Thanks for coming along for the journey and for all of your lovely reviews. Oh, and special thanks to hfce who gave me the kernel of the idea for this epilogue.

~L227

* * *

><p><strong>EPILOGUE<strong>

_One year later…_

"Really? _Again_?"

Carlton knelt alongside Juliet supporting her forehead and rubbing her back as she heaved miserably into the toilet. Talk about déjà vu—back at the Tahoe Sun, in the same suite, even, the morning after their first anniversary which they had celebrated with a private vow renewal, and just like that morning exactly one year ago, he and Juliet had woken up, nude, married, and with her bolting for the bathroom, hand over her mouth.

At least this time they remembered every damned thing.

"So, tell me, is this how you're planning on celebrating all our anniversaries?" he asked drily. "Not that it's not memorable, but a guy's ego could start taking a hit after a while."

Even hunched over the toilet she was still capable of delivering a fairly painful elbow to the ribs.

"Quit mocking or I won't give you your gift," she managed between heaves.

He gathered the soft mass of her hair in his hand, holding it back from her face. "I thought you already had."

The engraved cufflinks she'd given him the evening before were simple and elegant and probably the nicest piece of jewelry he'd ever owned outside of his wedding band but truth was, nice as those were, the simple fact he woke up next to her every morning was gift enough for him.

With a deep breath, she pushed away from the toilet and rose. "Not the only gift I got you." After rinsing her mouth, she padded into the bedroom, indicating he should follow. Curious, he perched on the edge of the mattress, watching as she rummaged in an inside pocket of her suitcase, extracting a small wrapped box.

"I suppose, though, knowing how much you appreciate accuracy, Detective Lassiter, this could be considered a mutual gift." Climbing back into bed, she handed him the box.

Confused, he took it from her but made no move to unwrap it, his brain analyzing the cryptic—to him—statement. She'd gotten him the cufflinks… he'd gotten her the diamond solitaire earrings she currently wore… they hadn't talked about getting anything… anything…

"Juliet," he breathed, still making no move to open the long, narrow box because he was reasonably certain what it contained, especially given how she was smiling.

A year earlier it _had_ been stress contributing to her suspicions, leaving them both undeniably relieved. The time to learn themselves as a couple had been wanted, not so much out of selfishness as Juliet had joked, but because it was all so very new. There was so much for them to learn and explore about each other, some moments better than others, because no matter how much he loved her and she loved him, he still had his difficult pain in the ass moments and she was every bit his match in sheer bullheadedness with a wicked temper to boot. Part of what made them such a good team, both professionally and personally, but they still needed to achieve some measure of balance—establish a distinct boundary between Lassiter and O'Hara and Carlton and Juliet where work stayed at work and their home life remained a private sanctuary.

Every now and again, however, he'd sensed an air of wistfulness about her. One he recognized because he felt it himself. It hadn't been the right time—they both acknowledged it—but part of both of them had so wanted…

"Open it, Carlton."

He'd thought it was a stupid wives' tale—all that glowing crap—but damned if it wasn't true. The sun couldn't begin to touch how beautiful and warm and perfect she appeared to him in this moment. "I don't need to."

Placing the box on the nightstand, he shifted to gather her close, needing her warmth and to feel her holding him.

"We only just started trying last month," he murmured against her neck.

She gently stroked his hair, soothing and arousing all at once, especially given how she shifted beneath him, aligning her curves more closely to his body. "You're the one who keeps insisting you're so determined."

"Damned straight." He rose onto an elbow, stroking her hair back from her face. "I do promise to try my damnedest not to be an insufferable pain in the ass."

"Oh, Carlton," she murmured, "determination is one thing, but you're liable to hurt yourself if you try for the impossible."

"Hey—" he protested, but yeah, it was weak. He _was_ going to be an insufferable pain in the ass. He just hoped he could curb it enough so that she didn't feel an overwhelming need to pistol whip him.

"What do you want to do about work?" he asked, because sorry—that _was_ a real concern for him. However, he would defer as best as he could to her wishes.

"We've got a doctor's appointment for when we get back," she replied, her fingers tracing light, sensuous patterns on his chest.

"We?"

"We," she replied firmly. "We got here together, we go through as much of it as possible together."

"Really?" A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Really." She rolled her eyes. "I can't believe you'd even think—"

"I just wasn't sure you'd want—"

"Shut up." Lifting her head, she punctuated her command with a physical echo. After several moments that left him lightheaded and flushed and yeah, shutting up, she lowered her head back to the pillow, her thumb tracing a slow, devastating path along his lower lip.

"We'll see what the doctor has to say about me being in the field. I'll do whatever she says, but Carlton," she said with a telling arch of her eyebrow that he knew _very_ well. "If she does let me work in the field, you're going to have to do your best not to be overly distracted or we're going to have to work with other partners."

"No." Given that choice, he would work like hell to keep his emotions under wrap on the job so long as he actually had her in his sights. She'd know, of course, like she always knew, but that sort of silent acknowledgment was part of that balance they'd achieved.

"Okay—we'll leave it up to the doctor then." She fell silent, studying him with those changeable blue eyes, the bright winter morning light bringing out the hints of green. "You look awfully thoughtful," she said quietly. "What's up?"

What's up? Such a simple question with such a complex answer. How to explain that from the moment he'd realized what the box contained and what it meant, an entirely new world had opened up to him—inspiring visions of houses with the sound of the sea in the distance and orange trees shading a patio with a green lawn where dark-haired, blue-eyed children wobbled through their first steps and played on a swing set and encouraged him to play Cowboys and Indians and God help him, even made him dress up for tea.

"I just love you," he replied.

"Hm," she said with _that_ smile—the one that had the ability to take him from badass cop to soft-hearted husband in less than a heartbeat. If they had a daughter who inherited that smile, he was doomed. "I somehow suspect there's more."

"There is," he agreed, "but it's also the sum of everything." He breathed deep, scared shitless and confident all at the same time. "It all comes down to I love you, Juliet Lassiter."

"I love you, too." She stretched beneath him, prompting a groan which in turn elicited a wicked smile and another stretch from her. "So, can you tell me at least a little of what had you looking so thoughtful?"

"I'd rather you did a little more of that stretching stuff," he said with a smile of his own, grinding down gently, but careful to keep his most of weight supported on his own arms.

"Come on, Carlton—one little thing." Another stretch and undulation. "Then I'll stretch some more for you, in any way you like."

He groaned again. "Fair enough." And really, this was practical. "How do you feel about orange trees?"

"Orange—" An instant later her eyes widened and he found himself tumbling off the bed as she took off for the bathroom once again.

"Aw, _crap_—" He scrambled to his feet. "Juliet, baby—I'm sorry." He skidded to a stop in the bathroom, dropping once more to his knees and holding her forehead, babbling, because other than holding her, it's all he _could_ do. "It's just I was thinking we might want to start to consider buying a house."

She heaved again and only his hold kept her from hitting her head on the tank. Dear _God,_ how long was this going to last? What the hell was nature thinking, doing this to the woman he loved? Helpless, he continued babbling, "A fifth floor condo's no real place to raise a child, no matter what those whackjob Farrows think and then you take into consideration what a weird little kid Tony is and do we really want our kids playing with _him_, and then I got to thinking about Madeleine's house. It's got this beautiful yard with an herb garden and these trees and it all smells so nice—"

Juliet shot him a grim stare over the bowl's rim. "Shut _up_, Carlton!"

"But—"

She turned back to the bowl, her "_Later_," echoing off the porcelain interior.

"Sorry."

In between heaves she reached out and patted his thigh. "Yes. House. Orange trees fine. Just—"

After another bout of heaves she continued. "Let me… get past… morning sickness… first, 'kay?"

"Whatever you want."

She patted his thigh once more, her touch reassuring as she relaxed back against him, finally done. "Just… want… you."

Carlton shifted slightly to better support his wife, sweat-soaked, exhausted, still more than a little green around the gills and the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his entire life. Gently, the tips of his fingers grazed her abdomen.

"Oh, God, Juliet—you've got me." He kissed her sweaty forehead. "For good."

~_Fin_


End file.
